


This Was How Legends Were Made

by Delta_Immortal



Series: Legends [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: All the time, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Angsting, Barebacking, Blood and Gore, Blowjobs, Character Death, Cliffhangers, Crazy, Delirium, Enemas, Fever, Happy Ending, Infection, Kind!Cora, Laura is alive, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Gore, NO rape, Nudity, Oral Sex, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Public Punishment, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, War AU, Whipping, Wounds, badtouch!Peter, but very strong elements of non-con without sex, crazy werewolf sex festival, deaths really, derek is a beta, gore deaths, graphic wound, handjobs, heart-gripping suspense, implied bottom!derek, it's a crytrain, medieval!au, prince!derek, slave!Stiles, violence is not often but does exist, werewolves can also be slaves, whipping wounds, wound infections
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-13 05:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 108,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1214206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delta_Immortal/pseuds/Delta_Immortal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caught between the Hales and the Argents in their war, Stiles finds himself a slave of the great Hale pack. Stiles spends each day working hard, hoping to earn his freedom and see his sick father. It also seems each day he’s capturing more and more attention from Derek, the young Hale lord. Stiles tells himself it’s mostly because Derek is merely trying to figure out how to send the annoying, useless slave away- not because of affection, despite the tales coming from the rumor mill.</p><p>It doesn’t matter what Derek's intentions are. Stiles can’t bother with love right now. He's got to keep his head down and survive long enough to keep his promise to Kate Argent. After all, she's promised to keep his father safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

Thirteen slaves stood in front of a meager, hastily constructed shed. Thirteen hours ago the last of them had been a free man, but his freedom had been lost the moment his legs gave out. The Hale pack had picked him up, soldiers tying him down and delivering him to this shed, pleased he was not an enemy, not one of the Argents. It didn’t matter that the man was from Beacon Hills, the same way it didn’t matter most of the others were from Mountain Pass. Though both were neutral zones in this war, to the Hales it mattered that neither place was not on the Hale side.

And thus when their citizens were captured, they were slaves.

The man in front of them, Finstock, was speaking to them about their new lives, trying to make it seem as positive as possible.

The Hale people were not necessarily bad to their slaves- certainly some people were and some weren’t, but if a slave put in a good five or ten years working and the owner wrote a recommendation, you could earn your way as a free man. After twenty all slaves were freed regardless.  Plus, there were laws on Hale land saying you could not beat a slave to death nor could you kill a slave; that you had to teach your slave to read and write, that your slave was a person, not an animal.

Finstock looked up at the crowd, smiling despite the blank gazes looking back at him.

Stiles Stilinski could not be convinced at how lucky he was to be a slave. He sat with his thirteen brethren, knowing in his heart what this wild-haired man said did not matter. If his master wanted to use him for sex, to spread his legs apart, Stiles would have to obey. If his master wanted to beat him, Stiles would have to obey. If his master wanted to break the laws, Stiles would have to sit back and watch those laws be broken.

He didn't just lament the loss of his agency. Stiles knew his home was a battleground; the Argents had taken it over despite the neutrality and the Hales in return were closing in. Stiles knew if he returned, the town would not be standing.

Finstock had a list of each slave’s name in front of him, as well as where the slave was from- it was tell the guards or risk a beating.

Stiles knew only one person in this group- the little girl he had tried to save in the woods when the Hale pack came riding in. They were both here now, sitting outside in the sun as their skin burned beneath the sky, and their fingers numbed under the cold wind. He thought of her spending her prime in some disgusting man’s house, using her for whatever sick twisted actions he wanted, and Stiles clenched his fists in rage. She deserved better. Not for the first time, Stiles cursed both the Hales and the Argents for their stupid war.

“When you get to your assignment, you’ll be trained more on what to do,” the man continued on, his voice loud, piercing. “But until then, you are never to speak unless spoken to, you are never to look into the eyes of your master, and you are always to be polite.” The speaker’s gaze fell on Stiles, who merely looked at the ground nodding.

Stiles hadn’t taken the beating- he’d behaved so far. It was a long shot, but he wanted to try and earn the five-year freedom whispered between captives.

 _Five years_ , he allowed himself to hope. In five years he’d be able to see his father again, even if their town burned to the ground.

Kate would keep his father safe.

 

***

 

The slave group slept poorly on the hard dirt floor, curled tightly together for any form of heat. The winter wind howled at the shack while men came in the night, riding horses and talking over ownership issues. None of it involved the slaves really, except for the end, when the huddled mass would be divided between their new owners.

Stiles didn’t huddle, nor did he sleep. His blank eyes kept staring at the men coming in, judging and watching them. One gruff man took notice, going so far as to stomp over to him.

Stiles winced, expecting a slap, but the man merely chuckled and knelt down. “Sleep, boy,” the man said almost gently, his hand reaching out to stroke Stiles’s cheek. “You have a long walk tomorrow.” With that his fingers lingered for a moment before he stood and walked back over to an unimpressed Finstock.

Stiles stayed awake out of spite.

 

***

 

In the morning, Stiles watched the slaves leave with their new owners. A young woman picked up the girl he’d been caught with- apparently she was going to a widow who wanted company. It was perhaps the only relief he felt- half the other masters looked mean, and one promised his slave he would beat the owned man every day.

Stiles swallowed, wondering what sort of person would buy him. But the owners never came to him, never chose him, and soon all the slaves were gone, as were the people buying them. Only two men were left- Stiles, and Finstock.

The younger man looked around confused. There was only one horse left, too.

Finstock smiled as Stiles looked around, writing something in his ledger. “You aren’t free,” he said, first thing. “But you’re going to the Hale Dome.”

Stiles felt his face pale. The… the Dome was a palace, really. The Alpha of the Hales, the Lords and Ladies of the Hales, they all lived in the Dome.

He felt the familiar crinkle of a letter in his shirt, one he’d managed to sneak in, and he couldn’t believe his luck. The Dome would be an easy place to get lost in. There were countless slaves, and he’d be one among the crowd. Nobody would pay attention to him. No creepy guys would trace his cheek like he was something to be eaten.

“Lucky you, right?” Finstock commented, watching Stiles’s face. “I’ve just got a few things to sort out. Do you know how to pack a horse?”

Trying to be useful in hopes Finstock might mention it to anyone in charge, Stiles nodded. He still didn’t trust his mouth enough to speak, yet.

“Good. Pack up my things, and we’ll ride my horse together- it’s too far to walk, even for a wolf.”

Stiles moved to the pile of blankets and books, carefully organizing them into knapsacks and tying them to the saddle. He hoped Finstock didn’t think he was a wolf. Wolves had to do all sorts of heavy lifting, strength needing jobs, jobs that would crush a human like him.

“Sir?” Stiles asked, and Finstock looked up. Stiles kept his gaze low, trying to remember what he had said. “May I ask… where I will work? And who owns me?”

Finstock paused before turning back to his book, writing a few more things. “Good questions to know,” he commented. “I like your attitude, Balinski.”

Stiles did not bother correcting him on the name, nor did he press for information. He kept packing the saddle, hoping Finstock would remember.

“Your owner is technically the Alpha,” Finstock told him, blowing on the ink in the book. “Laura Hale. Unless she gives you to another wolf, but I…” Finstock looked him over, “I really doubt she will.”

Good, Stiles thought, but he didn’t voice it. Finstock dabbed his fingers on the ink, and shut the book, deciding the liquid was dry enough. “Good packing,” he praised Stiles, patting him on the shoulder.

This touch didn’t linger, and Stiles felt hope. Maybe he could do this.

“They need a new slave for the kitchen,” Finstock started. “You might not end up there, but since you aren’t a wolf, you won’t smell out and eat the best cuts of meat, which makes you perfect for the job.” Finstock put the book in one of the knapsacks, patting his horse on the butt. “Not a lot of skill in the kitchens, really, but you can work your way up to be a star player!”

Stiles raised an eyebrow in confusion but quickly tried to place a calm front over it. Finstock patted him again, and Stiles helped him up into the saddle. As he climbed behind Finstock, the man watched him, adjusting until they were both somewhat comfortable.

“No offense to you, kid, but I’m not sure you’re star material,” Finstock muttered ahead of him.

“So long as I am useful, sir,” Stiles replied, trying not to show the bitterness in his voice. But then, really, not being noticed was a good thing.

It was a very good thing. This was how people survived.

“That’s the spirit,” Finstock grunted in approval, and the horse began to trot while Stiles held on tightly.

 

***

 

Stiles figured they were getting close when wolves dressed in Hale colors would run along side them, occasionally stopping them for credentials. Finstock would always sigh and hand over paperwork, and each wolf would sniff Stiles as if to ensure he was a slave. A couple gave him an evil grin, as if thrilled someone weaker had arrived.

There were paths, Stiles could see, and some had no guards. But he didn’t trust his human senses- there were probably guards further down or guards somewhere else.

“You’re gunna love this,” Finstock told him as they climbed a hill. In front of them lay the city, spiraling and cobblestone. Archways and gates lined the walls, along with giant wolf statues, almost all howling. It was gorgeous, and if Stiles wasn’t so bitter about being captured by the Hales, he might have been more impressed by it.

A good distance behind the town, nestled on top of a steep, steep hill, was the Dome. In the sunlight it sparkled gold- Stiles suspected in the moonlight it sparkled silver. The Dome itself was a circle, with two halls on either side. Running to and from those halls must suck, Stiles thought.

Just as quickly the dome disappeared behind the city. Stiles hugged Finstock tighter as they moved through the town, his eyes following makeshift shops. There were shoes, clothes, blankets, lamps- mostly winter things. One was an aphrodisiac shop, and Stiles could imagine himself working there if his future didn’t pan out. He swallowed.

“You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” Finstock mentioned happily. “They’ll love you in the kitchens.”

 

***

 

They did not love Stiles in the kitchens. They hated Stiles in the kitchens. The old lady yelled at him and called him useless when he tried to cut meat, when he forgot to add sauce, when he was too distracted by the giant flames coming out of the stovetop to chop his vegetables.

She yelled at him, said he was wasting precious food. It took someone, Danny to explain it to him. There was a shortage of food for the winter, he explained, but the family had saved up enough for the slaves. Even so, there were no extras to really go around.

It was the first Stiles had spoken. “Thanks,” he said, trying to get back on task. Danny laughed and patted him on the back.

“They don’t hurt us here,” he assured Stiles, and for the first moment, relief seeped into his bones. Danny then suggested to the old lady to have Stiles do things that weren’t food related, and things seemed to get better.

Though he organized the pans, found the lost paprika, killed the pesky mouse and heard all about Danny’s love problems with some soldier named Ethan, Stiles had yet to keep scrubbing at the dishes.

The woman yelled at him again, but this time, it felt justified.

 

***

 

When Stiles was finished with his pots, he looked up to see Danny waiting for him. Stiles felt surprised- surely Danny had better things to do. But when he voiced this, Danny only laughed.

“You’re in our room,” Danny explained. “We sleep ten to a room. The last guy was moved out, so you’ll be with me.”

Socialization. “Oh good,” Stiles commented.  

Danny smiled. “You’ll like it. There’s a couple of guys our age from your hometown, too. Jackson?”

Stiles paled. “Jackson is here?” he asked, all dreams of happy socialization and complaining and hanging out and being friends going out the window.

Danny laughed. “I take it you know him. And Scott, too.”

All those dreams flew right back in, as if Stiles’s heart was a black hole of excitement. “Scott’s here?” He suddenly asked, his mind whirling. This was good news indeed; he hadn’t heard any word from his friend since about a year ago.

Suddenly, things were looking up.

Danny seemed to catch his enthusiasm, happily answering all of Stiles’s sudden questions. Slaves didn’t work 3 days out of the year (the upcoming Sambra celebration would be one of them, in a couple of weeks), they didn’t get any pay, sometimes they could trade jobs with people, and if anyone from the main wing called you, you were to go immediately. No questions.

It made some sort of sense, Stiles thought. There was a shared bath for the servants, a shared common area where they could relax for the evening (if they so chose), or when the days were long in summer, there was an entrance to the outside where they could wander around, provided they did not try to escape, of course.

Overall, it did not seem like a bad place. And Stiles was glad of it. “Don’t be too worried,” Danny assured him one more time. “Everyone struggles the first day. That old woman should have you scrubbing pots, not cutting veggies. She just doesn’t like too many people in her kitchen, even if she needs them.”

“Thanks, man,” Stiles replied. He felt a little lighter about the day, though nagging at the back of his head was a feeling that his attention span was going to get him in trouble in the kitchens.

Still, he didn’t mind, not if Scott was there.

Danny finally led him to the room, opening the door.

 _Still a wolf_ , Stiles thought amusedly, watching as Scott sniffed the air curiously. Danny called out to him and Scott spun around, pleasant surprise spanning through his face as they both dove into a hug, tightly gripping at each other, both knowing that they shouldn’t even be in their predicament to begin with. But they were both alive, both still making terrible puns and jokes at each other, and for the evening, it was enough that Scott put everything else on hold and just sat with Stiles on the floor of their bedroom.

The others gave them space for the night.

“It’s not so bad here,” Scott assured him again. “You’re only punished when you break a serious rule, and occasionally there’s a public whipping, but…” Scott’s voice trailed off.

Stiles wondered if Scott could sense the horror that flowed through Stiles. “Scott, man, you do a terrible job of reassuring someone,” he informed his friend. “Good thing I love you so much.” Stiles’s hand dove into Scott’s hair, rubbing it affectionately. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Yeah. You too,” Scott replied, leaning on his shoulder. They stayed like that for a moment, never needing more than the other, Stiles suddenly feeling like a weight had been dropped off his shoulders.

Trust Scott to bring that weight back. “How’s your dad?”

“Alive,” Stiles reported. “Barely. The healer says there’s something wrong with his heart, but we don’t know what. He…he was still at home when I left.” Tears stung at his eyes, and Stiles tries to wipe them away. “Who’s going to take care of him, Scott?” The words were broken, much higher than Stiles intended, followed by a choked back sob.

“Hey, now. Your Dad’s a fighter. He’ll come through,” Scott assured him. “Your five years will be up, this war will be over, and we’ll come home. I get out before you- I’ll make sure he knows you’re alive.”

It was much more than what Stiles could have hoped for, and there were soft thank yous, for all the good they did. He felt lighter, less guarded with Scott around, and it was a good feeling.

Scott wisely moved on to the next subject, not wanting to linger on Stiles’s broken heart. “So I work in the dungeon.”

Stiles looked up, then, eyes red and puffy and nose sniffling, but it had been good to admit to someone his fears of loosing his father, and Scott was right, he couldn’t dwell on it. And it was comforting, knowing his best friend was willing to help.

So Stiles moved on for now.

“Whoa,” Stiles told him. “That’s pretty cool. Any old wise men down there? Do you do any whippings?”

Scott laughed. “No, I just bring food. It’s cause I have werewolf eyes, I can see better than most humans in the dark. No wise old men. No quests. No whippings.”

Stiles nodded along, listening as he did- half listening, mind thinking of a million things. But Scott wouldn’t have him any other way, Stiles knew, and continued. “It’s really dark and damp in there- it smells like mold. Sometimes Deaton- he’s the healer- has to come down to clean wounds or cure coughs. Most people aren’t worth it. But it’s fun giving meals- there are about three different entrances, so I use a different one every time. It surprises Allison.”

Stiles froze for a moment, sputtering. It wasn’t the name so much as the fond, almost dumb way Scott mentioned Allison’s name. “Argent?” he found himself questioning.

Scott nodded, his face far away.

Oh god. Scott was in love with the enemy. The imprisoned enemy. “Sometimes I leave her notes with her food,” Scott mentioned to Stiles, and it was clear he had mentioned this to _no one else_. Probably because everyone else would have told Scott the obvious: Do not flirt with a high stakes prisoner of war. Do not send her letters. That would be enough to get you killed. “I’m not sure her parents like me, though, but they’re behind bars and I’m not, so I keep writing.”

But Stiles was Scott’s best friend, and so he only patted Scott on the back and offered encouragement. “Good for you man. Taking the initiative.”

 

***

 

The next morning Danny woke Stiles early- earlier than any other people waking, and helped Stiles out of bed and to the kitchens. Old Kitchen Lady remembered him and pointed to the scrubbing station, her face suggesting terrible things if Stiles didn’t focus this time.

Stiles moved to the station, trying to focus on the positives- there was a window, and he could see outside. And there were many pots. And warm water. And…

Okay, there weren’t many positives. He could pretend for a while to focus on different pots, but it was hard when his mind kept jumping from thing to thing. Danny was over by the oven, kneading bread for the lunches today, and Stiles would shoot him pitiful looks occasionally, which were all met by a shrug.

Clearly, Danny did not envy his pot-cleaning duties. Job. Privilege, really. It was a privilege. Hours of privilege, really.

It was a nice spot, though, were Stiles could look outside, enough of a distraction to take every so often. And while he was hit in the back of the head with a wooden spoon more times than he cared to admit for gazing, it offered him a very nice view of a gentleman hauling 5 deer behind him when he decided to visit mid-morning.

Stiles looked. There was no shame in looking, he reminded himself, staring at the man’s ass through the window.

It was a beautiful, very clearly visible ass, attached to a powerful torso, with forearms to die for. Stiles logged that memory away. He would forever be picturing those forearms before he went to bed at night. He watched the man come closer to the building.

Clearly, Stiles not expected the man to come into the kitchens. Otherwise he might have been prepared for the man coming in through the door with his several deer. As it was, Stiles leaned towards the window to watch the man as long as he could, and fell forward into the pots. The old woman smacked him with a spoon for dirtying everything up again.

Then the door Stiles had not known existed opened and the man stomped in.

“Lord Hale,” the old woman said, bowing. “What brings you here?”

Stiles watched as all the slaves bowed, realizing he’d just been ogling a man thousands of times more powerful than himself.

Lord Hale, Derek fucking Hale, Stiles realized, as there was no way that was Peter, was standing before him. Derek Hale, one of his owners, his masters, one of the Hale family that lived in the wing on the other side, the mysterious wing he was not allowed to enter due to being a slave. It was good he’d already fallen to the floor, because Stiles had forgotten to bow, as every person in the entire kitchen was doing.

“Forgive him,” the old woman said, and Stiles looked up at her in confusion, then at Derek, who was staring at him intently.

Oh, God, he was going to be eaten for not being polite enough. He jumped into a bowing position, though keeping low on the floor, his heart beating wildly. He was going to die. His master was going to beat him.

“For the servants tonight,” Derek informed the woman, gesturing to the deer he’d hauled in. The one on the bottom wasn’t in great shape, being scraped along the ground, but Stiles was still impressed. And pleased- he hadn’t had meat in a long time.

The man had brought them meat for the winter.

It was easy to see everyone’s pleased faces, though nobody chattered, and unease still lay heavy in the room.

Derek was still staring at Stiles. “You’re new,” he finally addressed to the lowly slave.

Holy shit, Stiles thought, the Hale prince was talking to him. Stiles nodded, knowing if his mouth opened he would never be able to stop talking. And there would be beatings. So many beatings for what he wanted to say.

The prince said nothing either, and simply stood, as if waiting for Stiles to say something. Stiles could feel the tension, hear the breathing of the room. Nobody moved.

Well, if Derek wanted it, and Stiles never had much patience for awkward silences anyway.

“Are you going to keep standing there like a creeper, or…?” Stiles demanded, fed up with fear. His face looked up to Derek’s.

Derek was taken aback; it was clear on his grizzled face that he had never heard such a remark in his life.

And then Stiles remembered his place, suddenly backing down, but it was too late. The damage had been done. The old woman hit Stiles over the head with her spoon, yelling at him uncontrollably. Two men dragged him away, all while the Hale prince stared, blankly, confused.

He wasn’t even moving to help Stiles, or to punish him- no, just watching as an old woman beat Stiles over the head. Derek made a better statue than a person, Stiles allowed himself before cursing his mouth and luck.

 

***

 

Stiles had taken a few blows to the back for his statement, along with a few punches to his stomach, but Danny had come in and informed the old woman and her cronies that Hale did not want the boy punished.

Stiles was sure Danny was lying, but he was still thankful. Danny was awesome.

The old woman had released him, and Danny took him back to the room, where he was relaying the story to the other members of the room.

“I’ve never seen him look so dumbfounded,” Danny told the group that night. “Our prince, our war-hero, just standing, confused by Stiles’s mouth.”

Stiles wasn’t sure if he should be proud, but Scott was laughing for him, so he managed a weak smile.

Jackson took a drink of his wine before speaking. “Already trying to get into the prince’s bed?” he asked, and Danny glared at him before Stiles shrugged.

“It’d be the easiest night ever. Man’s a statue. He’d just stand there, staring blankly at me.” Danny laughed at that, although it seemed a little forced. Stiles waggled his eyebrows at Jackson in challenge.

Jackson pursed his lips- it was a good deflection of the jab, Stiles knew, but something was being said between Danny and Jackson that he couldn’t read.

“Mehealani,” came the sudden, gruff voice from the doorway. The men turned to see a guardsman from the main wing in their doorway. Danny jumped up, and Stiles looked stricken- was Danny going to die? Was Danny in trouble for lying to him?

“Don’t worry,” Scott told him suddenly. “Danny’s not in trouble.”

The soldier continued. “Sir Ethan requests you.”

Suddenly, the glare Danny had given Jackson made sense. Stiles watched Danny go, and though he gave a smile, Stiles couldn’t help but feel sick in the pit of his stomach. If anyone asked for him like that, he’d have to go. There wasn’t any choice.

“Ethan’s kind to him,” Scott assured Stiles. “It’s a mutual thing.”

“How?” Stiles asked. “How can it be mutual?” He looked around, but no one met his eyes, save for Jackson, who shrugged and continued drinking his wine.

Finally, Jackson offered, “It’s not like anyone would want your scrawny ass anyway. Don’t worry about it.”

Stiles flipped him off, and Jackson shrugged. Though normally he’d be glad, Jackson reminded him of life at home, and he didn’t need to be reminded how low on the totem pole he was back there. How nobody would fucking give him the time of day, how he was watching everyone else pair up and hook up while he had nobody.

The night dwindled into nothing, Stiles unable to sleep from both Jackson’s comment and his snoring below.

Restless, Stiles sat up in bed, rubbing his hands together for warmth. There was nothing for him to lose in this place anyway, so he grabbed his shoes and headed out the door.

The hallway was mostly empty- a few slaves were scattered in pairs, probably the only time of night they could meet. Anyone viewing Stiles would assume he was off to meet his other half.

The closer he slinked to the Great Hall, the fewer slaves he noted. It was almost too easy, exploring, figuring out where things were, which doorways lead where, though most were boring and lead to other rooms. It was almost too easy.

Guards seemed to be scarce, even though there was supposedly a war going on beyond the gates. Or maybe, Stiles wondered, they will all busy with the Argents.

Either way, the slave wing was his to explore.

 

***

 

When he slinked back into the room, Danny’s bed was still empty. Stiles huffed with worry, hauling himself back onto the bed, rolling over the night’s events in his mind. He’d seen a couple of the storage rooms, filled with grain, and he’d found the kitchen area and explored that, too, making sure to note all doors to the outside that might swing open suddenly and surprise him.

No way into the prisons yet. But Stiles still had time. It was only a couple weeks before the festival. If the guards were as sparse as they were tonight, there would be lots of opportunities to find the back entrances.

As he closed his eyes, Danny opened the door. “Thanks,” Danny told the man next to him, and he slipped back into the room. Stiles kept his eyes open, watching for any sign that Danny had been hurt, but Danny slipped into bed wordlessly, seeming somewhat content.

Stiles wondered what had been asked of Danny- perhaps the person preferred Danny to a personal attendant. Stiles bit his lip as he wondered what sorts of things were asked of Danny; maybe Danny had to lie in bed? Maybe he helped the other person undress?

Stiles flushed as a single image popped into his mind: In a room rich with silk and food, Stiles stood behind a standing Derek, helping remove the robe from his shoulders, his hands reaching across his wide back.

Stiles shut his eyes tightly and hoped sleep would take him away from that fluke of an image.

 

***

 

The old woman was waiting for him the next morning. “You don’t work here anymore,” she said curtly, pointing him to a man waiting in the corner. Danny waved him goodbye as Stiles moved walked over to a cold man named Harris.

“You’ve been requested to transfer to the serving staff,” Harris informed him. “After two days, I don’t know why.” He looked Stiles up and down, clearly not looking impressed.

Stiles didn’t say anything. There was no Der- Danny to save him from a beating this time, though he didn’t like this guy.

“Follow me,” Harris instructed him.

Being a server wasn’t a terrible job. As Stiles was the newest member, Harris demanded Stiles to be stationary. It meant Stiles would fill drinks of anyone who came up to him, but mostly he would be filling the pitchers of other servers. (Or, on occasion, he’d be behind the scenes, filling up pitchers and food behind everything). If he did a good job he would work his way up to filling the glasses at dinner, and if enough months passed and he was trustworthy, he might even be like Harris and deliver food or drink.

Although if enough months passed and Stiles became anything like Harris, he might just escape anyway.

The man paired with Stiles, Keaton, was helpful, reviewing drink preferences. Peter would always drink something very hard; Laura liked her drink watered down (but her guests drink extra hard), and Derek would rarely imbue anything resembling liquor. Stiles would also be in charge of carrying small snacks back and forth from the kitchen.

Overall, Stiles liked this job much better. He would be able to focus on different things, never getting too bored in one place. That would be ideal.

The afternoon was spent practicing pouring (which Stiles wasn’t too shabby at), serving food (which he was shabby at), and balancing things in his hands.

He broke a lot of dishes.

 

***

 

The days passed and Stiles became much more familiar with the passages in the palace. A couple of passages were only accessible as a server- he got a special serving key. There were tunnels to transport the food quickly and quietly (wolves weren’t allowed to transport food), and on the night of the new moon Stiles discovered the back entrance to the prison.

It was locked, of course, but out of sight, hidden inside an empty storage room. The servers all thought it was one of many storage rooms, and never paid it any mind. It must have been how Scott brought food to the Argents. Still, there were more passages, and more ways in, and it was Stiles’s job to know them all.

***

 

Scott woke Stiles up several hours later, crawling over his bff in a far more personal way than Scott probably realized.

“Stiles,” Scott breathed in his ear.

Stiles mumbled in Scott’s neck, his hands moving to Scott’s back.

It was Danny who spoke below them, waking Stiles up. “Is that right?” Stiles’s eyes flew open in surprise. He’d been dreaming of a different werewolf, and he threw his arms back in surprise.

“Scott! Dude, what are you doing here?” Stiles choked out.

“Shh,” Scott told him, covering Stiles’s mouth- Stiles was too loud, judging by the volume of Scott’s voice. “They’re going through the rooms, gathering up the slaves. We’re not supposed to make a scene. Put on your warmest clothes- they might take us all outside.”

Stiles blanched, horror filling his face. Oh shit. This was how people died.

“Hurry up, Stilinski! They have to find us in our beds!” Jackson whispered loudly. Danny was already dressed, throwing clothes up to Scott. Scott grabbed them and shoved them at the frail human.

“Here. It’s a pair of thick pants and a thick shirt- they should fit you. If anyone asks, it was cold this night, okay?”

Stiles nodded, trying to adjust the clothes so they weren’t inside out. Scott crawled back to his own bed, luckily just the next bunk over, also on the top bunk.

“What’ll they do to us?” Stiles asked Scott softly as he pulled on his second pair of pants, hips lifting up.

“Usually it’s a demonstration,” Scott answered him, trying not to distract Jackson, who was listening to the door. “Someone being punished. It’s supposed to remind us of our place.”

“And when it’s not?” Stiles asked, pulling the shirt over his head. It was itchy and threadbare, but it would be better than only wearing the nightshirt.

“Coming. In bed,” Jackson announced, and Stiles watched everyone dive under the covers. He dove under his just in time to avoid being seen by the wolf-guard as the door swung open

The guard blew a whistle loud enough to wake the dead. “All slaves are to be escorted to the Grand Hall. You all, with me.”

Everyone sat up, dutifully crawling out of bed, faking sleepiness. Stiles nearly hit Jackson’s head with his feet on his way down, but Jackson didn’t retaliate, which made Stiles worry. Jackson always retaliated. Always.

The guard counted the members of the room, nodded, and led them all as he marched into the hall. The guard in the room next to them was shouting orders, “Strip off your clothes! How dare you try to outsmart us!”

They kept up with the guard, following other groups of slaves as they marched forward.

Stiles swallowed, glancing around nervously and trying to gage the fear in other slaves’ eyes. Scott and Jackson were wolves; they’d survive. Danny wasn’t, but Stiles knew Danny had been here at least a year, so Stiles would survive as well. Probably.

He licked his lips, following Scott like a lost puppy. They rounded into the Great Hall, sunlight filtering across them from the sunroof. The light was almost comforting.

Stiles wasn’t convinced his group was safe, eyes a suspicious wooden post on the floor. The round thing had straps on the sides, adjustable straps, and it was covered in something dark, like…

Like blood.

Stiles grabbed Scott’s hand as they continued walking, filling in the area, all the slaves standing behind a line of guards. Stiles could barely see the post over Greenberg’s head. Stiles was thankful for that.

But he could see the Hale family, raised up on a stage, standing clearly above them. Laura sat in the center, Derek at her left hand, Peter at her right. A smaller throne lay empty, and Stiles remembered Cora was out fighting the Argents on the front line.

Which was his home, really. The front line was Beacon Hills. The pang of weakness was inevitable, and Scott squeezed his hand gently, sensing something was up, something that wasn’t just fear. Stiles was glad he didn’t have to explain himself, especially not when the last of the slaves had arrived, lining up and the main guard shouted for quiet.

The hall was eerily silent as the offending, naked slave was brought out, pale and beaten, placed on the pole. Stiles could hear the straps strain as the slave’s hands were fitted through them, he could hear the slave whimper as the leather tightened around the slave’s wrists. The guards marched back, their armor clinking.

When everything but the trembling slave was still, Laura stood.

All the slaves dropped to the ground, bowing their respect.

Stiles was thankful Jackson and Scott forced him down to the ground, forcing his head on the floor. It wasn’t needed, but Scott and Jackson knew there was a good chance Stiles would forget to bow, too busy watching everything.

“Against my Uncle, Peter Hale, did you raise your hand,” Laura said formally, coldly. The words echoed through the room, just loud enough to be heard in every crevice, loud enough to seep into every fold of flesh. She was speaking to the slave while the cold seeped up from the stones on the floor and into Stiles’s bones.

Still, Stiles thought Laura’s voice was colder.

As she stepped back, the slaves all looked up, watching as Peter took the whip from his niece and raised it in the air, aiming at the offender. They flinched as they heard the cry of the slave, watching as Peter dealt ten lashes; harsh, flesh-tearing lashes with a whip that looked like it might have been made out of razors.

Stiles felt sick. His back twitched in sympathy; there could have been a thousand good reasons to raise a hand against Peter, or none, or Peter could have been making it up; none of those reasons mattered. Stiles wanted to believe Peter had been wronged, that this was justice.

His gut screamed at him otherwise.

Peter finished, handing the whip back to the guard, and calmly slid over to the slave’s right hand. Stiles knew what would happen before Peter moved, knowing the level of crazy and vengeance from that grin alone. He’d seen it before.

Stiles closed his eyes at the sound of cracking bone. No one could mistake the sound, not with the choked, shaking sobs of the slave. The offender wasn’t a wolf, either. He wouldn’t heal back from that.

Stiles squeezed his hand shut. Better to put up with anything than be maimed like this, he thought.

Whispers began in the slave section- some said he thought he could outsmart Peter, and others began to tell a tale of Peter forcing himself on the bloodied slave before them. Stiles was more inclined to believe the latter with all the bloodlust Peter showed. The human opened his eyes, watching.

And Peter quietly strolled back to his seat, unmoved by the situation. Stiles knew Peter must be hearing the rumors, but he made no move to correct them.

Stiles eyes darted over to the other male Hale, Derek, who hadn’t moved during the entire ordeal. Derek’s face held no sympathy for the slave, bloodied before him.

Stiles glared at him. All Hales were the same, he figured, not giving a shit about what rights their slaves actually had. Knowing they could do something like this, as they pleased, over other human beings- it was disgusting. Stiles felt disgusted and angry, tears in his eyes. One day it might be him, and Derek would sit just as impassively.

“You there!” came a cry, and Stiles’s heart nearly stopped. He dropped his head, relief flooding through him as the guard grabbed someone behind him. Nobody had noticed his staring.

“Why are you crying?” the guard demanded of the poor man behind him.

Suddenly the whipped slave on the post started babbling, pleading, but nothing other than the emotions made their way through his mouth. The slave behind Stiles cried out, sobbing, shouting, “Daniel! Daniel!” on the top of his lungs. “I would have understood!”

Stiles bit his lip. The second rumor seemed all the more likely.

By this time Peter had stood up again, angrily snarling at the slave.

“You monster!” the slave was shouting, and Stiles looked to Scott for help. Scott had his eyes closed.

So did Jackson.

And Danny.

Trembling, Stiles followed suit.

“Kill him,” Laura commanded from her throne on high. Peter gave some sort of approving growl.

Stiles heard nothing from Derek.

That might have been because of Daniel’s screams, though, as something swung through the air and something warm splashed on the back of Stiles’s leg.

He didn’t want to see. He could smell the blood behind him.

“Nathan,” the whipped slave cried out, sobbing helplessly. “Nathan.”

There was a choked gurgle, and then Daniel too fell silent.

 

***

 

Stiles couldn’t sleep that night. He tossed and turned as he tried to get comfortable, but each time he closed his eyes the smell of blood came back to haunt him. Scott and Jackson seemed shaken up, too- Jackson took a bigger wineskin out of whatever storage he had and drank it all, while Scott just lay on his bed, not saying anything. Danny didn’t have anything to offer, either.

So Stiles lay awake, wondering if he was the only one who believed Peter had forced himself on the whipped… Daniel. On Daniel. Certainly there had to be others who thought so, though they might have stayed silent.

Helplessness drifted through him, anxiety keeping him awake. This was no good.

Stiles sat up, figuring he might as well explore the place he lived if he couldn’t fall asleep. It would at least keep him busy.

 

***

The nice thing about the door outside in the slave wing was the big bay windows, making it easy to see outside and see the stars and the moon without actually having to suffer the cold. Tonight nobody seemed to be out, and that suited Stiles just fine- more time to stargaze as best he could.

Part of him wanted to run for it, but it wasn’t time yet. Not yet.

“What are you doing by the window?”

Stiles started, spinning around and falling on his ass. The voice was low, like a wolf, and Stiles looked around, but the wolf didn’t bother to reveal himself.

Painfully standing up, Stiles answered. “Yeah, you just stay there in darkness, like a creepy wolf. I’m not going to bolt, you know. I just wanted to know if I could see the stars.” He rubbed his butt, trying to ease the soreness out of it. And he knew his mouth was trouble, but he wasn’t in a position to care right now. The man made him fall over like an idiot.

“Stars,” the wolf asked, incredulously. Okay, not a guard. Guards were gruff and would have hauled him back into his room with a couple of black and blue bruises. Maybe a wolf-slave?

“Yeah, stars,” Stiles answered. “Can’t go outside, so trying to see them from this window.”

“You could be whipped for talking to me like this. Imprisoned for walking at night.”

Stiles winced; he hadn’t thought it was a guard. Well, if he was going to be beaten, he might as well take it all the way- he was in no mood to care tonight. “I could be killed for crying for my lover,” he spat, “or killed for being raped.”

The guard gave a low growl in his throat, a warning. It brought Stiles out of his funk- who would save his dad if Stiles was dead, and Stiles bowed his head in apology, angry at his loss of control, and angry at the wolf-guard for being out tonight.

“I can’t see you, sir,” Stiles uttered meekly, keeping his eyes on the floor. Fuck, he was in for a beating, or his own murder. The growling hadn’t stopped the entire time.

Derek Hale stepped into the light.

Shit. Stiles winced. He was definitely in for a beating. Nobody was allowed to talk to a Hale that way and get away with it. If Stiles was lucky, he’d only be sent away to some other owner.

“Can you see me now?” Derek asked coldly.

Stiles bit his tongue, not allowing himself to speak. He was in such trouble. Shit. Panic started to seep into him, mixing with the exhaustion and horror at the day’s events.

Derek continued. “I am your lord, am I not?”

Perhaps it was the exhaustion, perhaps it was the thought of his father back home as he died, perhaps it was the scent of blood that hadn’t left his nose, or perhaps it was nerves that caused the outburst. But Stiles snapped, “You aren’t my lord.”

Stiles knew what the words meant, and he knew he should have been subservient, but really, fuck the Hales and their slave-system. He wanted to be back home.

Derek snarled, his wolf form showing. Stiles held his ground, knowing he should be terrified. “I suppose you want the Argents to rule over you, then?” he hissed.

“Fuck the Argents,” Stiles said evenly, too evenly. Clearly he was trying to control his emotions, his voice tight with rage, his eyes narrowing into daggers. “My town is a battlefield thanks to the Argents. My father is dying because of the Argents.”

Derek’s form disappeared, but Stiles wasn’t finished.

“And thanks to the Hales I won’t be able to bury him.”

Somehow, that seemed to make Derek waver, the growl stopping. Stiles attempted to use that waver to run past Derek, run away, but as he did so Derek easily caught his wrist. The wolf squeezed down, painfully.

Stiles didn’t speak again, and Derek looked him over, as if trying to see things that were hidden from him. Stiles stopped moving and met Derek’s eyes.

“You must be polite,” Derek ordered him, but there was no anger in his words. “This is your last warning. You can’t wander the halls at night.”

Stiles jerked, though he couldn’t get free. “I understand, Lord Hale,” he relented, still struggling to get some distance between the two. His wrist felt bruised. Maybe it was terribly bruised.

Derek didn’t seem to mind Stiles’s struggle, continuing to speak. “Do these things. In five years, you can return to your family.”

Angrily, Stiles gave a retort, to focused on hurting Derek than paying attention to the sudden gentle tone in the Lord’s voice. “There’s no one left to return to,” Stiles whispered darkly, the truth of the matter eating away at his own heart.

The hand on his wrist dropped suddenly, and Stiles booked it out of there. Derek didn’t follow.

 

***

 

“Stiles, fill this!” came two cries, two men desperately fighting for his attention. Greenberg won, kicking the other slave out of the way as he handed Stiles three pitchers, hoping desperately to get back to the party.

Stiles took the pitchers, filling them as quickly as he could, thankful that he wasn’t serving any of the military leaders. Nor was he touching any of the food; the huge trays filled, taken to the tables, only to be returned minutes later, completely empty.

No, his job was a simple one. Fill pitchers. Servers would give him pitchers to fill, and while the job was thankless, Stiles didn’t want to be outside.

Derek Hale was outside there. The lord was some sort of military general or something- he had a unit that fought most of the battles close to home. And, as Stiles rubbed the bruise on his wrist, Stiles’s job meant he could stay in the dark, keeping his bruise away from wandering eyes. Or Derek’s eyes.

Even if the bruise made the pitchers shake in his left hand. Stiles rubbed the bruise again. Derek had touched him.

He wasn’t sure what to make of that. Most lords didn’t touch slaves, right? But then how else was Derek supposed to stop him?

Stiles didn’t have time to make anything of that, either- once he handed Greenberg his pitchers full of wine, the man he’d kicked out of the way came up for him, pleading desperately.

“Don’t worry, Keaton,” Stiles said with a wink, handing him one of the pitchers he’d forgot to give Greenberg, “I’ll get it done quick enough.”

“Thank God,” Keaton managed, smiling. “Peter’s the one requesting for so many glasses-“

“Lord Hale!” Greenberg’s voice sparked through the room, bringing silence to the slaves. Everyone moved to turn at him, though most were too shocked to bow. Stiles looked back and relaxed. It was Peter Hale.

“As you were,” Peter commanded, in a voice that was almost too low to hear. No one really relaxed, but Stiles went back to his pitcher filling, aware of Peter’s movement on his right. “My nephew’s back here.”

Stiles nearly panicked, watching Peter as the older werewolf walked directly to the slave’s right, following Peter’s gaze as he met the eyes of Derek Hale.

Derek Hale was sitting in a small enclave, out of the way, staring straight at Stiles.

Stiles touched his wrist unconsciously, stopping as Derek’s blue eyes flashed at him from the dark corner. How long had he been there? Why was he watching Stiles? Stiles couldn’t turn his gaze away, not even when Peter turned to stare at him as well. Keaton grabbed Stiles’s arm suddenly, breaking his stare.

Derek let out a low growl. Stiles jumped and glanced over at the Lord, who had already started to transform into his wolf.

“My pitchers,” Keaton stated, taking his hand off of Stiles. Stiles looked back at the filled pitchers, well knowing Keaton had grabbed his arm to keep him from staring. Stiles handed them to Keaton, who didn’t take them, but backed away slowly.

The growl stopped instantly. Peter seemed to grin, and Stiles grabbed Keaton this time, looking up at him fearfully.

“I think there’s a leak,” he stated, hoping Keaton would understand the message of “Please don’t leave me”.

Bless his heart, Keaton did understand. The other slave hopped down, looking over his pitchers carefully. Stiles mouthed “thanks” to him, and Keaton only nodded.

“Nephew,” Peter began, turning back to Derek, “You’re more antisocial than normal. Only an hour talking to our generals-“

“I see them in our meetings,” Derek interrupted.

Peter continued unfazed. “-And the other three hours you are here.” It seemed like a question to Stiles. He could feel his heart race as mentally he did the math- Derek had been there. Derek had been watching him for three hours.

He grabbed Keaton’s arm tightly. Keaton looked just as surprised as he was.

It was lucky Stiles had been too busy to speak. Too busy to do anything more than “yes” or “right away”. In fact, the only thing Stiles had said all night of any importance was after the first hour, commenting on how much the wolves were eating. And that was right when…

Derek came in.

Stiles cursed, trying not to look over at the two lords. No slaves dared come in while Peter was talking to Derek. Stiles and Keaton were stranded, alone by their keg, and Peter hadn’t dismissed them. In fact, Stiles was pretty sure Peter wanted him to stay.

“Take him to bed with you and be done with it,” Peter offered. Stiles nearly sputtered.

“Uncle!” Derek roared, jumping to his feet. Peter watched the two of them with amused eyes, clearly moving back and forth between his nephew and Stiles.

“You’ve marked him, haven’t you?”

Stiles felt Keaton’s eyes fall to his wrist. Stiles paled as he tried to cover it with his other hand.

“An accident. I was escorting him to the slave quarters,” Derek said sharply.

This did nothing to ease the amusement in Peter’s face. Now the other slaves were crowding in, wanting to hear about the illicit (though unreal) relationship between the new, mostly useless slave and the man 3/4 of the slave quarters dreamed about.

“I came here to get away from the party,” Derek replied. “They make me sullen.”

Peter sighed. “Your natural state is sullen.” His eyes wandered over Stiles for a moment before taking a step forward.

Keaton bolted. Stiles couldn’t blame him.

The young slave quivered, unsure of what Peter wanted. Making sure to lower his eyes and keep his form low, he turned to Peter, leaving the pitchers alone. If Keaton could ignore them, so could Stiles.

The base of a cane touched his chin, forcing him to look upwards. Stiles swallowed, aware of the panic building within him. This was probably how Daniel had gotten himself killed.

“Why is my nephew staring at you?”

Stiles licked his lips, his throat dry before answering. “I don’t know, my Lord.” It was an honest answer, and Peter was able to hear such. The disappointment on his face for the truth was readable, even for the slaves. Stiles continued, holding up his wrist. “The mark… I didn’t call him ‘Lord’.”

The slaves all started chattering. It made sense now _why_ Stiles would be marked. A punishment, to remind him how to behave. Stiles was clumsy, outspoken and foolish- no way for a slave to act here in the palace. The cane made his way down to Stiles’s throat, pressing right on his Adam’s apple. It was hard to breathe.

Fear ripped through him- fear that he would die here, underneath Peter’s cane or by his claws. He could see Peter’s blue eyes shining, angry, and cursed himself for even speaking. His eyes looked at the exits, wanting to run, but the slaves had moved even closer and blocked them, trapping Stiles here.

“What a kind nephew I have for not whipping you in public,” Peter spoke again. “What a kind nephew I have for not killing you on the-“

“Peter,” Derek spoke, placing a hand on his uncle’s shoulder. “He has no allegiance with _them._ I spoke to him myself. It was an honest mistake, and I have taken care to see that it doesn’t happen again.”

The cane removed from Stile’s throat, but he wasn’t paying attention. There wasn’t enough air in the room. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. Gasping, he fell to the floor, unable to hear anything that was being said. He was going to die here, with his vision flashing and fading and

He

Could

Not

Breathe

 

 

Greenberg was the one to haul him away, picking up his form and taking a cane to the back from Peter’s wrath. Stiles wanted to thank him, but all he knew is that he was safe, he was escaping, and he tried to calm down, tried to breathe, as Greenberg carried him to safety. Greenberg yelled for Scott in one of the back passages; Scott came running, probably able to smell something was wrong. Scott took the panicked human’s form against his own, holding Stiles tightly to his chest as Stiles tried to keep breathing, his hands fisting tightly in Scott’s shirt, even gripping around the metal key that Scott wore when he worked.

“Shh,” Scott tried to tell him. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to go back. I can ask someone to send you anywhere-“

Stiles tightened his grip, knowing that was the problem. He couldn’t go anywhere. He would always be a slave, now, and if he tried to run he’d be killed. It didn’t make anything better.

Scott’s boss looked somewhat sympathetic, but touched Scott’s arm. Greenberg had already left. Scott had to go back to work.

“No, no, no,” Stiles cried out as Scott looked painfully at him. “No, Scott, no.”

Pain shot through his arm, and Stiles wasn’t of a mind to find out why. It hurt; it was bleeding, there wasn’t enough air again and he felt his stomach start to churn as his heart raced. Scott was begging, pleading and suddenly someone roared, something

Something grabbed him

 

 

And when he came to again, Jackson was over him, helping him breathe in their room, a strange but welcome hand on his back. “Breathe, Stilinski,” he commanded, somewhat softly. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

They both knew it was a lie, but Stiles clung to it anyway, breathing. His arm hurt, he noted, coming back to reality. He looked down at it- it was bandaged. Jackson had already bandaged his arm.

“Thank you,” Stiles hiccupped, and Jackson simply scoffed, moving away to a small cupboard they shared and pulling out his strongest wine.

“Drink this, Stilinski, and then go to sleep. We’ve all had rough days here. Nobody will think less of you tomorrow.” Jackson held out the wineskin.

Stiles took it, drinking a mouthful, but Jackson encouraged him to drink two or three mouthfuls. When Jackson took the skin away, Stiles could feel a flush starting on his cheeks.

“Peter said I should be killed,” he started, and Jackson shook his head.

“I don’t want to hear it, Stilinski. Climb up to your bunk, sleep, and think about it in the morning.”

Unwilling to fight him, Stiles climbed up to his bunk, reaching for the letter held under his pillow, the letter that promised his father would be safe. He read it again and again, the only thing he’d been able to sneak into the palace, knowing Jackson underneath him was not concerned with what he was doing. He didn’t even care why Jackson wasn’t working right now.

Finally, the dregs of sleep fell over him, and he placed the letter back under his pillow, along with a dark, cast-iron key he’d taken from Scott during the confusion.

Hopefully his guilt would ease up in the morning. He let sleep overtake him, letting a soft image fill his mind, one where Derek wasn’t watching him, but rather talking to him and engaging with him, bringing out his father and giving them their own place to live nearby.

 

***

 

Stiles woke up before anyone else, but given how early he had gone to bed, he was not surprised. And he wanted to stay in bed, but his need to piss was far too strong. So he climbed down, relieved as he saw no physical marks on Scott’s sleeping form, nor were any on anyone else in the group. Granted, Scott was a werewolf and could heal away the bruises, but still. It gave Stiles some hope.

Stiles opened the door to their room, closing it gently behind him.

“Stiles Stilinski.” The voice boomed behind him. Stiles jumped, squeezing his thighs to not empty his bladder itself all over the floor.

“Gah! Dude, not when I have to piss!” he shot back, looking up at the guard. “Sorry,” he added quickly, remembering the trouble his speaking had gotten him into, “Sorry, sir. You surprised me.”

“I have been requested to escort you to Healer Deaton,” the guard informed him. “After you relieve yourself will suffice.”

Healer Deaton? Stiles’s face scrunched up. “We have a healer?”

The guard nodded. “You are new, so you have not seen him. Normally, he is the on-call healer for our guests and for our pack. But it has been requested that in light of yesterday, you must visit him.”

Stiles didn’t feel like asking more questions, and the guard was always one step behind, so he allowed himself to be led as far as the Great Hall, which he decided was so big he was sure twenty versions of his home could fill it.

Now that there weren’t any people inside the Hall Stiles took notice of what was there. Thrones decorated the room on a raised stage- there were doors for exits and entrances, huge doorways where the wings were concerned, and a dome glass ceiling above them.

“Deaton is currently in the cellars,” the guard told him as they made their way up the stage, to where the thrones sat. “Do not speak to anyone about this entrance.” 

“Deal,” Stiles agreed, watching as they came up to a chair- to Derek’s chair. Not as big as Laura’s throne or Peter’s, but solid in its own right. Another guard stood by it, opening a trap door just behind the chair. A spiral staircase waited underneath them.

“Neat,” Stiles commented, and the guards paid him no mind.

This would be useful, he thought, if anyone knew about it. The Great Hall also served as an entryway into the building. It was almost a straight run from this entrance to the exit of the palace.

Clearly it must have been important to see Deaton if they were sharing this with him. Stiles stayed quiet, which his escort seemed to appreciate. It wasn’t that hard, actually; Stiles was memorizing every turn, every cranny, everything he could.

“Wait here,” the guard told him, halfway through the tunnel, and Stiles could see light up ahead. There was a cavern, a clearing, and Stiles thought he could make out bars up ahead.

The Argents were there, he realized. This was where Scott worked. This was where the Argents were held. Most of the workers were werewolves down here, able to keep prisoners at bay.

Was Deaton also a werewolf?

Stiles looked over at his escort, chatting with another guard, and the escort seemed frustrated, sighing, before turning back to Stiles. Stiles waited patiently, his eyes on the floor.

“He has left here already,” the guard informed him. “We’ll go back the way we came.”

“Okay,” Stiles agreed, looking for nooks and crannies to hide in. If ever he should be escaping, this route would be the one he wanted. The guard pressed a button at the bottom of the staircase and climbed up, Stiles behind him.

“How do you know it’s safe to go up?” Stiles asked, and the guard scoffed.

“There’s a mirror connected to the edge of the throne,” he answered. “So that if there are enemies above, we know to stay below.”

The floor opened as the guard pressed on it, sighing and the others sympathizing. His escort continued towards the main wing, where all the Lords and guests would be sleeping.

Stiles heart increased as he thought of Peter waiting for him somewhere in those halls. The guard stopped, turning to look at Stiles. Stiles gave a nervous smile, aware the wolf could smell the fear on him. “The Healing Room is not close to the personal chambers,” he assured Stiles. “We will not see any of the royal family today.”

Stiles relaxed. The guard continued, and Stiles wondered if this guard was really all that bad. He seemed like a nice wolf. Together, they entered the main wing.

Instantly the place was divided- you could either go left or right, but not straight. The guard took them to the right, where Stiles figured the meeting rooms would be, where the infirmary would be, and maybe a library that had the servant entrance in the back. To the left must have been the private chambers, ones Stiles hoped he would never visit.

They continued down the hallway. It was still dark, though the candles were brighter than anything in the slave quarters, and paintings and tapestries filled the hall, glowing warmly under the candlelight. Stiles had never seen such luxuries before.

“This place is amazing,” he uttered, and the guard seemed pleased at his wonder. Stiles wanted to ask, he wanted to know more, but he kept his mouth shut. There might be important wolves roaming the halls, and Stiles didn’t want any more attention.

Finally the escort came to a square, wooden door, and knocked three times. Stiles waited blankly. The wolf seemed to hear something he did not, and pulled open the door, revealing an incredibly thick door, probably made of a large, old oak. It was about as thick as Stiles’s hand.

Stiles would not have been able to move the door on his own. Being a werewolf must have been useful.

Stiles expected beds in the Healing Room, but the first room they stepped in was more like an office. Deaton was a very nonthreatening man sitting behind a desk. He glanced over Stiles, no predator gaze shining in his eyes, and Stiles let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Slave Stiles Stilinski,” the guard presented.

“Ah, yes,” Deaton replied. “Thank you. If you don’t mind waiting outside?”

The guard looked over Stiles one more time. “Very well.” Stiles wondered if he’d been ordered to make sure Stiles was comfortable.

“Thank you,” Stiles uttered before he left. Deaton motioned to the chair in front of his desk, and Stiles sat, waiting for Deaton to start.

Finally, Deaton spoke. “Where are you from?” he started.

“Beacon Hills,” Stiles told him proudly, though soon he fell into sadness. “You know, lots of neutrality, lots of caring for our own, until the Argents moved in and took it over.”

“I see why you would be upset at suddenly becoming a slave.”

Stiles sighed while waving around his hand. “The Argents say we’re free, but they don’t treat us half as nice as this,” he answered. The reality was that he couldn’t win; the Argents, now in possession of the town, were keeping everyone under lock and key, roughing them up as a warning should they ever complain. But at least he had his father. Here, he was not given the illusion of freedom, but it felt the same. At least in a crowd of slaves he wasn’t going to be picked out.

At least, that’s what he had thought. His mind wandered to Derek before looking up at Deaton. Deaton was simply watching him.

“Derek mentioned you had an attack yesterday of some sort. As if you were possessed.”

“I…uh, yeah,” Stiles replied honestly. “It’s like panic. I feel like I’m going to die, and I can’t breathe. It’s happened since my mother died, several years ago. Usually I can control them, but… but Lord Hale had a cane at my throat, and I lost it.”

Deaton raised an eyebrow.

Stiles shrugged back at him. “I’m not possessed,” he explained slowly. “I’ve…uh, already tried that route. Lots of sage burning, ice baths, etc. I just feel like I’m dying.”

Deaton raised an eyebrow. “A panic attack?”

Stiles looked up at them. “Is that what they’re called?” For the first time, he felt really hopeful. They never seemed to happen to anybody else.

Deaton didn’t acknowledge him either way, simply making a note in the parchment in front of him. Stiles wiggled a bit.

“Please don’t send me away,” Stiles begged. “I know that I’m not worth much, and I’m useless, but I can learn, I can. Please don’t line me up and sell me to the highest bidder. I saw them. I won’t survive 5 years with them.” His voice became high and broken, desperate to stay.

“Stiles,” Deaton said calmly, “I’m just the healer. It’s not my choice.”

“Oh,” he said, pitifully. “Well then. I guess I can plan on packing. Nobody needs a panicky slave.” Stiles slumped in his seat, wondering what his future had in store.

“I was instructed to make sure you were still fit to work here.” Deaton came back from behind the desk. “Your arm looks damaged- a whip, I’ll bet, but if you think you can work here still, that’s fine.”

Stiles nodded, surprised at the comfort he found these words. “Ok. Good.”

Deaton stood up from behind the desk. “Nothing else has been bothering you?” he asked, and Stiles wondered if he knew. The color drained away from his face.

“I’m worried about my dad,” he managed. “I have no way to check up on him.”

Deaton seemed to acknowledge this, motioning to Stiles to follow him into a smaller side room. A curtain acted as a door, giving Stiles some privacy.

“I’m going to check you over,” Deaton told him gently. “I’m just looking for any signs of sickness or malnutrition.”

“Alright,” Stiles said, “But I think I’ve eaten better here than I did at home.” He took off his shirt, sitting up on a table as Deaton checked over his form.

Deaton gave a chuckle. “I’m sure you have. It’s been a hard winter this year.”

“And the Argents kept most of the food for themselves,” Stiles added, feeling a lot more comfortable. “There were two, Chris and Allison, who would distribute food to widows or children. But often the others would just keep the stores for themselves. We had to start hiding food in our homes.”

Deaton’s eyebrows raised.

“And there’s meat here,” Stiles added, “I never imagined we’d get meat.”

Deaton moved behind him, saying nothing.

Stiles bit his lip. “I still don’t like it.” The words felt cold, and Deaton placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to,” Deaton told him quietly, acknowledging Stiles’s feelings, and Stiles’s heart felt a little lighter.

 

***

 

Deaton sent Stiles home with two small bottles. One was a salve for his arm, and the other for his nerves, to be taken at night- he’d sleep deeper for a week. Stiles looked forward to sleeping, honestly.

Deaton had also commandeered him for the next few days, taking him away from serving. Apparently some higher-ups had approved the change and Stiles didn’t even need to talk to Harris about it. It also had the bonus of going outside, though snow still remained on the ground and it was frigid outside. But it was outside, not trapped in this walls of the palace, so Stiles was ecstatic for it.

And he could start whenever he wanted there wasn’t a time limit, nor an amount of herbs he needed to gather (Stiles was pretty sure Deaton was just giving him something to try and do so he wasn’t useless). Just “gather herbs. Outside. Don’t freeze.”

For the first time, Stiles felt relaxed. Not free, no, not while he was still being escorted back still a slave, but relaxed. There was space. And Stiles could deal with space.

He could definitely deal with Deaton’s orders to rest, too, and with all that, the guard escorting him back didn’t feel like a constraint anymore. Stiles didn’t even care. The guard seemed pleased by whatever had happened- relaxed, almost, and occasionally trying to slyly sneak a look at Stiles’s face.

Stiles always caught him, but it didn’t erase the small smile there. Things were looking up. Not even guards creeped out by his smile were able to get rid of the high he felt.

They made it back to Stiles’s room. Stiles said his thanks and the guard simply remained stoic and replied, “That’s my duty.” Stiles opened the door and shut it behind him, suddenly aware of a heavy awkwardness in the air.

Nine men stopped their morning routines, staring blankly at Stiles. The air was heavy between them and the silence was deafening. At least until Jackson scoffed and continued messing with his hair.

Stiles beamed at Scott, who’d made his way up from the back of the room, eyes curious and expecting the worst. At Stiles’s smile, though, it was clear he’d allowed himself to hope.

“A-ok,” he announced, though more to Scott, holding up one of the bottles. “Healer Deaton gave me something for my arm and something for my sleep. I’m going to do him some favors for the next few days, along with resting, and then I’m back at serving.”

Scott’s face broke into relief as he rushed forward to give Stiles a hug. “You stay?” he asked softly, his grip a little too tight for Stiles’s comfort. But then, it was nice to know he would have been missed.

He had missed Scott.

“I stay,” Stiles assured him, squeezing as tightly as he could back.

The other men continued with their routines, but Scott’s grip didn’t loosen. “I was so worried,” the werewolf admitted, “I just… I couldn’t lose you again.”

Stiles fully understood Scott’s feelings.

It was Danny who interrupted them. “Stiles,” his voice said, breaking the two apart. Scott moved to finish preparing for work, while Danny finished adjusting his shirt. “Is Derek interested in you?”

The room fell silent again, though this was more curiosity than fear. Stiles could definitely tell the wolves had all partially shifted to hear his heartbeat.

“I don’t think so,” Stiles answered. “Like, he’s a lord? I’m a slave, and well, me,” he added. Jackson scoffed and nodded in agreement. Fucker.

“He marked you,” a smaller wolf commented, somewhat not believing Stiles’s words.

“Yeah,” Stiles remembered, thinking back to all the werewolf lore he’d known. A mark meant a claim, like putting a big sign on someone that said: DO NOT TOUCH. PROPERTY OF [WOLF].  “Yeah, no. He caught me exploring at night. I… uh, mouthed at him.”

The wolves relaxed, almost like the other members of the serving staff had. Stiles hadn’t lied. “Is this a big deal?” Stiles asked.

Jackson was still eyeing him, as was Danny, despite their relaxation. “You should be careful,” Jackson finally said, and Danny murmured agreement. “He’s handsome, and everyone is smitten by his looks, and with the rumor, many people will see you as a target.”

Scott nodded. “Especially given that the last person he fell in love with burned his family to the ground, and he was imprisoned for treason before Laura found him not guilty for her blackmail and manipulation,” he added.

Stiles paled. “Oh damn. So there’s really no way he’d ever…”

Jackson shrugged. “Given that it’s you, Stilinski, there’s no way it could be true. But maybe he doesn’t see you as a threat.”

Stiles glared at Jackson for that, his self-esteem dropping. But then, it’d be better to be ignored.

“But slaves don’t get taken to see Deaton,” Scott piped up. “They don’t get guards to escort them.”

The words felt heavy in the air, all the men thinking over them. “They do… if they’re favored,” Danny finally offered.

Fuck. There wasn’t any way to tell, was there? Maybe Derek favored him. “Maybe he just feels bad for me,” Stiles offered.

“I feel bad for you,” Jackson added unhelpfully. “Whatever Stilinski. We’ve got to get going. You won’t betray him. You’re not clever enough. You’re no Kate Argent.”

Jackson walked past as horror pooled into Stiles’s gut. “Kate… Argent?” he asked softly, and Scott turned at the door.

“Yeah. She’s the one who manipulated Derek. He didn’t… burn his family, but she did. She started this whole mess.”

They moved to leave, waving goodbyes, but Stiles didn’t remember. Cold horror swept through him, almost the same as when he’d watched the two lovers be executed before him. His hands felt numb as he moved up to his bunk, trying to reassure himself with the letter.

Kate had _promised_. His father wasn’t a wolf, so she had to keep her promise.

He lay in bed, resting for a lot longer than Deaton had suggested.

 

***

 

The sky was cold and grey, and his fingers were cold and grey, and Stiles was pretty sure that the herbs were cold and grey underneath all the snow. At least Deaton had pointed out where the herbs generally grew, and Stiles wasn’t poking around snow uselessly for hours. As it was, he’d gathered enough herbs to fill one of the bags Deaton had given him, and it was about time to head inside.

Damn. Tomorrow he’d have to borrow something from Scott- something warm and cozy.

His mind turned over the conversation in the morning. Did Derek Hale really like him? It seemed like a stupid idea. Derek had threatened him. Derek had punished him. If anything, perhaps Derek felt sorry for him. Maybe he understood what it would be like to return to a place without parents.

It would have helped if he’d known Derek before coming here- what Derek was like to other people, how the Hales interacted with their slaves. There were rumors, and executions, and surprises at Derek’s actions.

None of this helped him. None of this was helpful to him at all. Stiles sighed, trying to organize his thoughts, but nothing was coming to him.

Something was coming to him, though, physically. Stiles blinked, trying to figure out what…exactly… was waddling his way. There were deer heads and bodies carried around by…

Derek.

The human looked around for places to hide, but the plain offered nothing. Besides, Derek was headed in his direction, so there was no point. Stiles continued gathering herbs, wondering if Derek would just move on and not talk to him.

The deer monster waddled closer, finally close enough that Stiles could smell blood and see Derek’s face peeking out from under the carcasses. Derek stayed that way, as if waiting for Stiles to speak first.

“Deaton told me to look for herbs,” Stiles explained. Derek merely nodded, his face looking pleased. Stiles had to suppress a grin- when Derek nodded, the deer head over his shoulder nodded as well.

“Other than that, I’m well. Thank you for your attentiveness,” Stiles added, in case Derek thought he was being too forward.

Besides, Stiles was pretty sure Derek was the one who commanded he go see Deaton. Peter would probably have just killed him rather than have a defective slave.

Derek didn’t say anything for a moment. “Do you want help?” he finally offered, his voice soft, as if Stiles might break from anything louder.

Stiles winced, trying not to let his heart skip at the thought of someone liking him. “Nah, I’m good. You should probably bring those to the kitchen and make everyone’s day. Not like you need help being everyone’s favorite.” He moved some snow over to a patch of herbs he hadn’t collected yet.

Derek didn’t move, still staring intently at Stiles, who in turn was still searching with very cold fingers for more herbs. He found one more and pulled, but the hard ground refused to give up the root. It broke.

“Am I…” Derek started, but Stiles didn’t want to hear that question, because between a man who forced slaves into sleeping with them and killing them when they said no, an impassive leader who merely seemed to follow her uncle’s whim and more focused on the war than the affairs of her house, and a military general Stiles had never met, Derek was the clear favorite.

Derek, the creeper who followed him throughout the palace and stared at him for three hours while he filled pitchers, was the default.

Yeah, that was a budding romance right there.

Derek changed the question suddenly. “Do you like eating deer?” He asked, just as quietly.

Stiles flinched, not expecting the question, and half expecting Derek to be blushing. He looked up, making eye contact with the Lord.

Derek’s face was clam, unmoving, without a blush in sight. Stiles filled with relief. “Yeah,” he answered, and then corrected himself. “I mean, uh, yes, sir.”

Derek adjusted one of the carcasses, blood spilling onto the ground in front of him. Stiles tried not to wince and kept speaking to ignore the stench that was creeping towards his nose. “You should get to the kitchens before someone mistakes you as a vengeful deer-ghost.”

Derek took a step back and Stiles realized he’d given a command to a lord not once, but twice.

Even Stiles’s numb fingers were beginning to shake. Punishment was definitely in his future. He stayed down, but Derek merely tossed the deer onto the ground, kneeling in front of Stiles. Stiles looked up, expecting anger, but instead, Derek looked smug.

“Did your mouth always get you into trouble at home?” Derek asked him, reaching for his hands.

Surprised, and trying to figure out why _Derek Hale was holding his hands_ , Stiles’s mouth answered for him. “Mostly my sneaking around. I always got Scott in trouble.”

Derek only smiled at that, an honest smile that looked really good on him. Stiles felt a flush creeping up his cheeks. Derek rubbed Stiles’s hands, his thick, warm, calloused fingers against his, holy hell, this wasn’t even sexual, but Stiles could totally see those hands doing other things.

“You should dress more warmly tomorrow,” Derek remarked, his voice low. He placed both of Stiles’s hands in his right and reached around to a pouch with his left.

Stiles watched in fascination as Derek pulled out gloves, carefully sliding each of Stiles’s hands in the warm wool fabric.

“Yes, my lord,” Stiles replied.

If he didn’t know better, this would be affection.

Derek smiled again before looking serious, as if worried he’d be caught… smiling.

“I’ll get you a deerskin as well,” Derek assured him.

Stiles knew he should be paling, freaking out. But instead his heart was beating faster, taking off as he wondered if Derek would always be taking care of him. There weren’t any politics, any rumors here, just Stiles and a very attractive man who was warming his hands and giving him clothes.

When that deerskin came, the rumors would really fly.

He had to ask Danny what to do. He was pretty sure how romances like this ended, how Derek would summon him to his bedroom and Stiles would be asked to fulfill duties that he had no idea how to fulfill, like sexual duties, and Derek was standing up, why was Derek standing up.

Stiles watched, a blush on his face as Derek swung the deer back around him and waddled off with a curt nod.

It was only after Derek had moved well enough away that Stiles murmured a thank you to the wind, his chest warm and maddening with the thought that someone liked him enough to give him gloves.

Nobody had given him anything before.

 

***

 

Danny seemed impressed with the story Stiles had given him. Impressed and somewhat incredulous of the fact that Stiles could attract any sort of attention, really, and Stiles wasn’t sure how to feel about that. But hey, Danny was agreeing with Stiles’s feelings that Derek liked him, and Stiles liked being right.

Though he was really nervous about being liked.

It didn’t matter if he liked Derek back. As a slave, he was at Derek’s beck and call, and hey, at least it wasn’t Peter who liked him.

Well, Danny wasn’t quite agreeing to Stiles’s point. “I don’t know,” Danny told him, huddled against the wall for warmth that night. “He could. He might not. He’s not the same as Ethan.”

“Still,” Stiles argued, “A deer skin? Do people outside wear them?”

Danny nodded. “Usually the trusted slaves. Wolf-slaves.”

And somehow it didn’t seem that likely anymore, but Stiles didn’t feel defeated. Instead, he felt relieved. “Ok. Maybe he’s not enamored with me. I can live with that.”

Good. He wouldn’t have to worry about pleasing Derek, or making Derek happy. So far he’d been able to be himself- if Derek liked him maybe he wouldn’t be able to speak freely. Stiles was shit at seduction, and Derek would want him to…

“But he watched you work for three hours?” Jackson’s voice cut through. Danny nodded and thought over the point, and Stiles finally sighed, admitting to what he had suspected in his heart.

Derek Hale liked him. Fuck.

Fuck.

He pressed his hands against his face. “What do I do?”

“Maybe he won’t want to do anything,” Danny offered. “Remember his last relationship. Maybe he just wants to watch you from afar, make sure you’re not hurt.”

Stiles nodded. He could see that. Derek watched him already, and Derek took care of Stiles through Deaton and whatnot. If he was lucky, that would be all Derek wanted, and they’d both grow out of it. In five years, Stiles would be free and Derek would have hopefully moved on.

But Stiles wasn’t lucky; he knew that just as much as he’d known Derek liked him. “What if he wants me to visit his bedroom, Danny? How can I…” and he trailed off.

“ _Still_ , Stilinski?” Jackson spoke from his bed. “It’s been three years, and _still?_ ”

Stiles said nothing in his defense, but he did flip Jackson off. Danny grabbed his hand gently, reassuringly. “Follow his lead,” Danny told him, and Stiles stopped caring about Jackson, trying to burn every word Danny told him into his mind.

He’d probably need it.

“Insist on lubing up his dick, if you can- you won’t want it to burn, and he might not remember humans don’t heal instantly.”

Stiles bit his lip, trying to think about how that might work- how would he convince Derek to do anything, but he still filed it away to process later. Danny was telling him information in order of importance.

Danny took a breath. “Do you find him attractive?”

Stiles nodded. “He’s got a fabulous ass,” he said half-jokingly. “One of the first things I noticed about him.”

Danny relaxed suddenly, smiling. “Good,” he exhaled. “It’d be much harder if…well, if you didn’t.” Stiles nodded and Danny continued. “So… if you can’t get hard, distract him Kiss him, touch him until you are. Offer to bathe together, or whatever. Just lots of foreplay, touching, relaxing.”

Stiles’s hands were trembling. They both knew saying “no” wasn’t an option, even if Stiles was straight.

“To be honest, Stiles,” Danny said, yawning and Stiles knew this would be the last thing he’d say, “If Derek hasn’t summoned you to his bedchamber by now, and he does like you, he’ll be gentle. It seems all he wants to do is take care of you.” He dropped Stiles’s hands.

The information rolled around in his brain, and Stiles took a couple of breaths. “Thanks,” he told Danny. He felt… not more comfortable, but prepared. Perhaps he could think about plans tonight, about what to do when things… when things probably happened. How to prepare himself and whatnot.

Jackson shifted in his bed. “Stilinski,” the asshole said lowly, but there was concern enough that Stiles turned to listen to what he had to say. Stiles felt uncomfortable. If Jackson was concerned about him, it had to be something serious.  “Don’t try to find experience _now_.”

“I wouldn’t-“

“You would,” Danny interrupted him. “Good point, Jackson.”

Stiles looked confused, not willing to admit he’d already gone over a list of people he thought might help him become experienced. Clearly he was missing something.

Jackson sat up, his eyes flashing, and Stiles realized it was a wolf thing. Jackson was giving him warning about something he, as a human, wouldn’t realize. “If this wolf likes you, he’ll be possessive. If he even thinks you’ve been sleeping with another guy, you’ll both be dead.”

Stiles thought back to the two men executed, and his dread was enough to make Jackson relax. Stiles was trembling again, but he blamed the cold. “He growled when Keaton touched me,” he whispered.

Danny patted his shoulder. “Keaton’s okay,” he assured Stiles. “We’re all okay, so he must not have thought you were sleeping with any of us.”

The newest slave simply agreed wordlessly, feeling even more lost. Jackson sighed dramatically and walked over, sitting next to Stiles. He offered his wineskin, trying to comfort Stiles in some stupid way. Stiles stayed sandwiched between the two men until Scott came in from his late shift.

As they turned in for the night, Stiles curled next to his best friend for heat and comfort, each in their own sheet so Derek wouldn’t smell Scott, and shared a swig of what Deaton had given him.

He wasn’t sure he would have slept without the potion.

 

***

 

Stiles saw the deerskin when he returned from the bath the following day. The others had gone, letting Stiles sleep in (the only perk about this whole sickness thing). On one of the beds was a beautiful deerskin, embroidered and tasseled where it could be. It was probably worth more than Stiles’s life.

There were no doubts left in Stiles about Derek’s feelings now.

Stiles debated the pros and cons of wearing the deerskin. He didn’t want to wear it. He felt like Derek was clearly marking his authority, he didn’t like the way it made him feel owned, or reminded that the thing he was wearing was more than him.

But on the other hand, it was cold outside, and he didn’t want to get in a fight with anyone today. So he wore the mittens and the skin, and when he came back in the guard passed on a message Lord Hale had given: when he was done with herb collection, he was to return the items to Deaton.

There was only one more day, really. It wasn’t that big of a thing.

 

***

 

Stiles didn’t see Derek again for a week, which was probably good for the both of them. Stiles was busy serving and training to deal with the Sambra festival, and Derek was probably busy trying to figure out how best to deal with the Argents locked in the basement. Right now Kate was the leader of the free Argents, and she wasn’t keen on having any of them returned or bargaining on anything. Stiles was pretty sure the current rumor was Kate told the Hales to kill all of her family rather than negotiate to get them back.

It made Stiles’s gut twist.

So the festival was a nice welcome. The medicine had run out and Stiles had gone back to exploring, wandering around the palace. Derek hadn’t found him, so Stiles thought he was doing an excellent job being sneaky. As a bonus, when he didn’t see Derek, he didn’t think of Derek. All he thought about was his father, hoping his dad was still well.

The eve of the festival, Stiles found his body wandering. _For the final exploration_ , Stiles thought, _we’ll check out the Great Hall_.

It was empty, Stiles noted as he crept into the hall. Most everyone was sleeping in preparation for the big festival tomorrow; even the guards. The lack of presence gave the slave confidence. Stiles climbed the stairs to the stage, peeking around the thrones. Laura’s was shined, clearly what was a throne used throughout the ages, while Cora’s sat clean and a little dusty, as if nobody bothered to clean it since she wasn’t here.

Derek’s throne at Laura’s left was angled strangely but Stiles knew it was due to the trap door behind it. He walked over to the throne, his hands touching the armrest.

For the first time in the week, he _wanted_ to think about Derek. He didn’t want to think about anything else, about the Argents in the basement, how the palace would be just as unguarded tomorrow when everyone took off, how his father was still in Kate’s hands- and he wasn’t sure if his father was safe after all.

Derek was a welcome thought. He traced the armrest, thinking of Derek’s arms, thinking of his hands back when Stiles was collecting herbs. Stiles sat in the chair, imagining how Derek must feel every time the slaves were brought in. It wasn’t always executions- sometimes announcements, sometimes for praise. But Derek was always silent and impassive, and Stiles wondered if Derek ever looked for him in the crowd.

He remembered Derek’s unspoken question from the previous week: “Am I your favorite?”

Derek, who didn’t make laws, who didn’t have any deciding vote in what the Hales did, who still made sure the slaves were taken care of, organizing food and rations, bringing deer, going out and defending the palace from close by Argent attacks, who watched Stiles with care and patience and didn’t force himself upon Stiles when he could, when it was his right… yeah, Derek was his favorite.

Derek was a decent person, more than a decent person, really. Stiles smiled softly as his hands rubbed at the ends of the chair arms. It would be a shame to give up what could have been, but Stiles didn’t really have a choice. He had a mission.

Something blue flashed in the dark and Stiles bolted upright, terrified for his life. Shit. Shit. Something had found him. His feet began to move towards the edge of the stage. He thought it would be safe, but clearly-

“What are you doing?” the voice hissed, and Derek moved from the shadows into the moonlight, angrily stomping towards him.

Stiles swallowed. “Thinking of you,” Stiles answered quietly, honestly. “Wondering.”

Derek came closer, clearly angry at Stiles’s actions, and Stiles fully expected to be dragged to the dungeons beneath the throne. Still, honesty would be the best here- if he lied, Derek would probably just assume worse things. “Wondering what?” Derek spat.

It was the first time Stiles had seen Derek so angry. It terrified him.

He bit his lip, trying to find his confidence before speaking. Taking in a few breaths, he answered. “Wondering about what sort of man you are,” he replied, his fingers twitching at his sides.

Derek watched him curiously, the anger draining away from his face, though the caution was still there. Stiles lowered his eyes, realizing he’d been eye level with Derek this entire time. “I should go, Lord Hale. I’m sorry.” Stiles turned to leave.

Derek’s hands caught his again, squeezing firmly and forcing Stiles to turn back at him. Stiles’s heart dropped, but he wouldn’t look up, wouldn’t look at an angry Derek until he heard Derek speak.

“What sort of man am I?” he asked. Stiles looked up at him, surprised at the question, or perhaps more at the inquisitive tone of voice that Derek used. Derek’s eyes were shining but not with anger, and Stiles felt like he stood on the edge of a knife.

“Creepy,” Stiles joked, trying to ease the tension. He offered a smile to assure Derek he wasn’t serious, and watched as Derek’s face betrayed relief at the assurance of the joke. “But you’re kind. You don’t flaunt power like your uncle-“

Stiles suddenly shut his mouth and dropped his gaze. He’d gone to far, he knew, and Derek’s grip tightened as a growl rumbled through Stiles’s body. Fuck. Fuck.

“Explain,” Derek demanded. Stiles could hear the rage building in his voice, tight and short.

“Peter’s always putting slaves in our place,” Stiles offered quickly, “Drinking in front of us if he hears we’re thirsty, eating if he hears our stomachs rumbling. He’s had a tired slave watch him sleep, and he whipped the slave when his heartbeat slowed. Greenberg couldn’t help that. Sometimes Peter threatens to find our families if we don’t behave, and bring them here and have them killed and…”

Stiles stopped. “I shouldn’t say anymore, sir.” He took in a shaky breath. Derek’s hands were still tight, unmoving. Stiles tried to change the subject. “Laura,” he started slowly, pausing as Derek’s hands squeezed a little too painfully, “she is neither kind nor unkind. She’s just, and treats us fairly. We’re not friends, not servants- slaves. But I feel safe with her.”

Derek seemed to calm, and Stiles knew he hadn’t lied- Derek could hear that Stiles hadn’t lied. Derek stepped closer. Stiles looked up at him, meeting Derek’s gaze.

Derek’s grip loosened, though Stiles suspected there were bruises again. As the grip loosened Stiles felt like he was about to fall- his knees were weaker than he expected, probably in fear of being killed on the spot. Derek’s eyes still shown bright blue, and Stiles shivered in fear, eyes cast down again.

“You, though, you keep us eating, making sure we have food even though you’re still hosting extravagant parties. You even kill deer for us, to give us meat, even with the festival tomorrow. I heard you killed twice the normal deer for us. And you watched out for me when I was new.”

Derek’s breath hitched, and it was at that moment Stiles realized he could feel Derek’s breath on his skin, on his lips. Were they that close? Or was Derek just a really strong breather?

“And at first, I was terrified there was another motive behind it,” Stiles offered honestly. “But you looked out for Greenberg and Scott, allowing them to keep their jobs, so I know it’s not just me you look out for. You treat slaves like we’re human beings. I feel like a person when I’m with you.”

Derek’s face was a lot closer now, much more noticeably closer. Stiles kept speaking, trying to keep their lips from meeting. “I owe you an apology. I took a lot of my frustrations out on you, when I started here. Unfairly.”

Stiles looked up this time, almost shyly, his eyes focused on Derek’s lips that were incredibly close. Like he should be able to taste them close. “I’m sorry.” He focused his eyes back on Derek’s.

Derek spoke, his voice soft and low, but it felt like thunder. Stiles could feel Derek’s voice on his lips, that’s how close they were, and the thought drove a spike of heat down his stomach. “This seems very out of character for you.” But there wasn’t accusation, or anger- just… amusement. The hands on his wrists gently slid upwards to his arms, and the grip moved from containment to something soft and enticing, as if bracing Stiles for something delicious yet to come.

This was how people got kissed, Stiles realized, suddenly aware of his heart beating. His face felt red and hot, and worst of all, he wanted to kiss Derek. He could only think about how wonderful Derek's’ lips would be on his, how he could feel the flesh underneath Derek’s robes, and the intense heat of Derek’s body pressed against his own.

Could Derek smell how aro….

Stiles’s brain stopped working, not wanting an answer to that. He stood still, Derek’s hand sliding onto his shoulder, now aware of Derek’s half-hooded eyes, looking at him with not anger but desire that burned blue, echoing the feeling of want within his own gut. Stiles knew exactly what Derek wanted because he wanted it himself, in that moment, he wanted himself underneath Derek, naked, claiming, just like how Danny’s stories went.

Stiles felt anticipation and also a little twinge of fear dancing through his nerves. He turned his head a little, unable to keep staring at the wolf’s eyes.

Derek’s breath was on his cheek now, as if waiting for Stiles’s head to tilt up and press their lips together. Stiles wanted to tilt up and press their lips together, and the realization sent his head spinning.

But… but… his rational mind tried to supply, do you really want to hurt Derek like that? Do you want to see his disappointed face when you stand on that whipping block?

Derek’s hand left his shoulder, instead sliding behind him, pressing on the small of his back. The space between them grew closer, the desire almost unbearable. Derek wasn’t forcing a kiss, sure, but Stiles knew he was growing impatient.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles blurted out, starting Derek in the eyes.

The tension fell away like a taut rope gone slack, and Derek let him go, stepping back. Stiles lamented the loss of those deliciously warm large hands. Derek looked broken, as if he’d crossed a line.

Derek hadn’t. It hurt Stiles to think about Derek hurt, to let Derek think he’d done something wrong.

“I’m sorry about what I said before, about how I treated you.” Stiles took one of Derek’s hands and squeezed it gently, letting it drop, but trying to assure the wolf that nothing had been wrong. Nothing but the timing of their situation, anyway.

Derek’s broken face turned hopeful again, but Derek didn’t close the distance. “Behave,” he said gently, breathy, as if he’d just run miles. “Go back to your room, and don’t mess around here again. I can’t be nice to you forever.”

Stiles waved one of his hands dismissively. “Psssh. I don’t have to be a wolf to know _that_ ’ _s_ a lie.” But he turned and ran back to the entrance, aware of Derek’s eyes on him as he left.

There were only two things left in Stiles’s mind.

 _He totally wants me_ , Stiles repeated over and over, nearly shaking with joy as he crawled back into his bed. He replayed the thought over and over, because right underneath it was a much sicker, sobering thought:

 _He’ll never forgive me for freeing the Argents_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The AU takes place in a strange land where electricity has yet to happen. It's a fantasy world without magic, but I couldn't quite place it as fantasy!AU although I should. 
> 
> Stiles is 18 at the start of this story. All mysteries, all hints do get solved. There's lots of angst, too, but everything will be explained. Even where Jackson gets all his wine from, and why he's allowed to drink it all the time.
> 
> I hope to update as soon as possible! :) I'm not sure how long the next few chapters will be, as originally I'd planned this chapter to be 8,000 words… and doubled that. I would expect long chapters, though, and this fic will probably be at least 100,000 words long by the end. The rating comes for sex in future chapters, by the way. (Spoiler: It is the next chapter. The rating is for the next chapter onward).
> 
> See you next time!


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles didn’t have to even guess if he was dreaming. He knew deep in his bones, in his very soul. Even though it was just a dream, it was a nice dream. Derek was above him, their mouths pressed together, the body heat Stiles had felt last night melting into Stiles’s body, close but never close enough. Stiles squirmed underneath Derek’s touch, craving more contact.

Derek’s hand trailed from his cheek down his chest, stopping as Stiles arched his back. “Eager, aren’t we?”

Stiles didn’t say anything, merely gazing up at dream Derek with his flushed face. He swallowed as he nodded, trying to move his torso upwards and guide Derek’s exploring hand lower on his body, to regions that desperately needed that touch. Derek only chuckled, pressing their lips together again. Stiles groaned.

_Derek tasted just like his breath._

That thought repeated in his mind as he awoke, making total sense until he said it out loud. “Shit,” he groaned to himself. Dream-Stiles said stupid shit, and he made a vow never to mention that to real-Derek. Or anyone else. Ever.

As Stiles fought his hard-on, he watched several of the wolves underneath him rustling through clothes. Two were fighting each other, arguing over something. Scott gave Stiles a grin, clearly aware Stiles had been enjoying himself in dreamland, but said nothing about the stupid line Stiles had uttered upon awakening.

That was how Stiles knew Scott was a great friend.

Underneath him, Jackson took one last drink of his wineskin and threw a shirt upwards. “McCall,” Jackson called, not bothering to get up and _hand_ it to the wolf. Jackson’s aim missed, hitting Stiles in the face. Stiles flipped him off while Jackson shrugged, crawling out from the bottom bunk and continued to give no fucks in Stiles’s direction while he searched for his own clothes.

“It’s early,” Stiles mumbled at Scott.

Scott laughed and ruffled Stiles’s hair. “Yeah. But the palace will be mostly empty today, with all the wolves out.” He took the shirt Stiles handed him.

Stiles frowned. “I thought there was a festival.” He looked up for an explanation as Scott finished pulling on his shirt.

“There is. But wolves have so much extra energy today, they round up all the slaves and take us for a run. It gets us tired.”

Stiles snorted. “Manipulative much?” he asked.

Scott only shrugged impassively, probably well knowing it was, but not caring. “It feels damn good. And the Hales run with us- we’re like a giant pack.”

Stiles shrugged back, mocking Scott’s movement. It was probably useful, bonding with the Hales and all. That way their wolf slaves wouldn’t rise up, wouldn’t challenge the family. Maybe it was a wolf-thing. Stiles supposed it was a wolf-thing he wouldn’t understand and tucked the information away. “So I won’t see you today? Does anything _good_ happen today?”

Scott chuckled and swung down off his top bunk, avoiding his bunkmate only narrowly. “We come back in the afternoon, feast on the kegs and the buffet, and there’ll be dancing and more kegs in the hall. The humans all get first go at the food, so eat as much as you can before we eat it all.”

That was very important, actually. He remembered Melissa ranting to his father about her son’s new eating habits after Scott was bitten. Stiles winced as he heard a howl from somewhere close by, and the wolves in the room howled back, signaling their location. Clearly it was time for all loud, howling people to go and for quiet, calm humans to stay behind and pointedly _not sleep in_.

This holiday sucked.

Scott waved goodbye as the wolves all ran out, leaving Greenberg, Danny and Stiles behind. Stiles wanted to pull up the blankets and return to his very nice dream, but he suspected Greenberg would miss having someone to chat with in the mornings.

“Stiles,” Greenberg began, confirming those very suspicions, and Stiles tried to turn over, driving his face into the pillow.

“I’m not here, Greenberg.” The pillow did little to muffle his voice.

“It’s your first day back, right?” Greenberg asked. “We’re serving the family today. We’ve got to look nice.”

Another loud howl sounded, this time from outside, and a chorus of other howls sounded in response. “I suppose that means I’m due for the kitchen about now,” Danny commented, “while the wolves work up their appetite with pre-run workouts.”

Stiles groaned as he lifted himself out of bed; he’d better leave with Greenberg. Danny’s shift was only for the wolf-slaves, which meant he could take a little longer in getting ready this morning. The pampered man smiled as he looked over at Stiles from his diagonal bunk. “Sounds like you had a good dream there, Stilinski. You making any progress with our Prince of Silence?”

“Sleeping!” Stiles yelled as he dove back into his pillow, glad Danny couldn’t see his blushing face. Danny laughed and moved over to pull Stiles’s covers down, watching as they piled onto the ground. Stiles turned over and glared at him.

“Better get going. I might not have to worry about the food for the Hales, but you do.” Greenberg nodded his agreement nervously, his hands shaking as he reached out to grab Stiles’s arm.

“Peter’s eating today,” he warned, his voice shaking.

Stiles raised an eyebrow as he sat up, remembering all too well when Peter made a sleepy Greenberg watch _him_ sleep. “You said Peter never eats with the family.” Danny took this moment to dress, excusing himself from the conversation.

Greenberg rapidly nodded, still trembling. “Today is an exception,” he pointed out. “On the upside, only the Hale family comes. On the downside…” he looked over Stiles, eyes resting on his arm. “Will you be all right with Peter?” Greenberg handed him his shirt, a sign to _hurry the fuck up_.

Stiles shrugged, taking the shirt and sitting up. “Not like I’m going to see him, right? I’m just filling pitchers.”

Greenberg let out a squeak. A squeak. Stiles didn’t even know humans could hit such a pitch, let alone squeak. “What does that mean?” he asked, glaring at the other man.

“Nothing,” Greenberg offered, moving towards the door. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Stiles jumped down from the bed, narrowly missing Danny. “It means something,” he concluded, reaching for his good pants. Greenberg played deaf and fiddled with something by the door.

 

***

 

It turned out the squeak meant many things, actually, more information than Greenberg’s simple words could convey. With the wolves gone, the human slaves had to take over some of their duties. That meant less people for serving the Hales.

For Stiles, it meant _he’d_ be serving the Hales. It was still just drink, but drink was enough to put him on the edge. For a moment, Stiles entertained the thought of freaking out again, but Greenberg was doing that for the both of them, breathing in and out rapidly, as if preparing to face death.

None of the Hales had arrived yet. The servers with food were behind a curtain, waiting for a signal to emerge. Since Greenberg was the senior slave, he was in charge of that as well as explaining to Stiles what to do. “You… you make sure Derek and Peter have wine, and I’ll be focused on Laura.” Greenberg told him, nervously glancing around the room. Laura’s chair sat at the head of the table, but Stiles reviewed Derek and Peter’s spot, trying to figure out how to best access the cups without getting in the way. He and Greenberg were near the end of the table. Normally Cora would have been sitting in front of them, but Cora was currently off fighting great battles against the Argents, so there was no one to block the gaze of the Alpha if she decided to grace the slaves with her steady gaze.

He wouldn’t fuck this up, Stiles reassured himself. He just poured wine into a cup and his job was over. He’d poured wine hundreds of times. He’d done it for himself, in fact, many, many, many times. And this time, he noted, looking at his wrists holding the pitcher, he did not have a bruise on his wrist to weaken his grip.

“He scares me,” Greenberg whispered to Stiles, standing beside him. Stiles opened his mouth to ask for clarification, but the door swung open suddenly with dramatic flare, slamming the stone behind it. Stiles and Greenberg jumped.

Peter walked into the room, walking as tall and proudly as if he was the alpha himself. “My hearing has gone a little since the fire,” Peter commented dryly, “but do tell me who frightens you, slave?”

Greenberg froze, probably pissed himself, and refused to answer. The smartest thing Greenberg could have done, Stiles admitted to himself.

“Ah, yes. Perhaps if you slept more you’d be able to remember,” Peter offered, sitting down. Greenberg stayed still, frozen. Knowing from his training Peter was to be offered food, Stiles motioned to one of the servers. The useless server stayed behind a curtain. Just like Greenberg, he was too afraid of Peter to move. Stiles glared at him before staying in his spot. Peter sat down before his gaze trailed over Stiles, eyes flashing with memory.

Stiles was fucked. He’d hoped Peter wouldn’t remember.

Peter didn’t grin as Stiles’s face betrayed his horror. Instead, the werewolf gloated, leaning forward over the table. “I see my nephew has decided to keep you,” he commented amusedly, taking his empty glass and setting it down. It rang out, signaling its emptiness.

Stiles lowered his eyes and tried not to glare, moving forward to fill the lord’s glass. Peter’s eyes were on his arms, trailing over his body as if he were a delectable piece of fruit. If Stiles didn’t have something to do today, if he didn’t have plans of seeing his father again, Stiles might have snarked at Peter and told him to watch his eyes. But it would have been death, given the last time they interacted, and Stiles couldn’t risk that today.

Peter still watched, creepily fascinated with the way Stiles poured the wine. At least Derek never drew attention to his creepy voyeurism.

“Silent,” Peter relented as Stiles stopped pouring, glass full. “Smart.” Peter took a sip and Stiles moved back to his original position. Just as Stiles returned, Peter set the glass down, hard, causing Stiles to wince.

The glass was empty again.

Stiles walked back, aware of Peter’s eyes on him. Peter continued with their one-sided conversation. “Answer this, though. Do you always serve us at breakfast?”

“No, my lord,” Stiles replied carefully. “Just today.”

A grin filled the werewolf’s face. “How lucky, then, that this is the _only_ day I do not take breakfast in my room. We’re kindred spirits-“ he cut off as his head spun to the entrance. Greenberg hastily moved to fill Laura’s cup. Stiles strained to hear something but trusted Peter’s senses. After he filled Peter’s cup, he went ahead and filled Derek’s, stepping back into his place.

Just as Greenberg returned, Peter stood, clearly in greeting. Laura made her way through the entrance. Derek entered behind her. For a moment, Stiles wished it was a much bigger room.

Derek’s eyes flashed at Stiles immediately, and Stiles dropped his eyes to the ground. The alpha greeted her uncle with a hug, asking his opinion over some battle formation. Derek greeted his uncle with a grunt and took to his seat, pointedly not looking at Stiles. Peter looked delightfully between the two as he gave his opinion, suggesting quickly they sit down. Laura seemed to take note at Peter’s distraction, but she sat as well, sipping from her glass in concentration.

No one else came to join them, and the food servers now darted out, offering food to each of their plates. The wolves piled up, though Stiles knew if to the wolves the portions were humble and almost measly.

Laura inquired after Peter’s life, and the oldest wolf dodged his way through the questions, deflecting and distracting. Stiles winced- it was almost painful to watch Laura, like she was pulling teeth trying to find something out about Peter’s personal affairs.

Derek sat idly through the questioning, poking at his food and not touching a drop of his wine. Peter, on the other hand, finished his wine with ease and flair, and Stiles constantly moved to keep Peter’s cup full.

During one of these times, halfway done with filling Peter’s cup, that Laura changed the topic abruptly. “Derek,” she asked softly, taking everyone by surprise, “I’ve heard rumors that someone has caught your eye.”

Stiles noted Derek stiffen from the corner of his eye, while Peter’s gaze stayed directly on the slave. Stiles kept his eyes low, trying not to draw attention to himself while Derek attempted speech.

“You might as well stay here,” Peter told him lazily, “since I’m feeling _particularly_ thirsty this morning.” So Stiles moved to Peter’s side, giving him enough room to freely move his arms and waited, aware that he now faced Derek.

The wolf glanced at him from the corner of his eye, but he kept his head facing Laura, His voice steady. “They’re rumors,” he assured her. Stiles thought back to the previous night, how Derek’s lips were so close to his, and he bit his lip. Derek was lying, but lying carefully. That would be a good trick to learn.

Laura seemed to accept his answer. “Well. You could just take someone to bed with you tonight,” she offered, a not-so-subtle hint. “After all, you know what they say- You’ll have twice the luck if someone shares your bed today.”

Peter’s glass was empty. Stiles scooted up to refill it.

Derek sighed. “And I’ll tell you the same thing I told you last year,” Derek started, exasperated. “Not for me, Laura. I have the battlefield. I take care of rations. It’s enough.”

It was good to note, Stiles thought, because tonight having Derek pointedly not look for him meant he might be able to escape and return home.

He moved backwards, only to find Peter’s hand pressing against the small of his back, keeping him in place. Peter’s right hand moved to grab his forearm, gently caressing it. “I could use some luck this year,” he nearly purred.

Stiles felt sick to his stomach. The slave could feel his heartbeat hammering in his chest and had no doubt that the wolves could hear it. Laura sighed but shrugged, pointedly not caring. This sort of thing probably happened all the time.

Derek glared at Peter, his eyes wild, and his face twisting as if he fought transforming. Stiles felt like a rabbit between to hunting dogs. This was how wolves fought over _mates_ , Stiles thought, whether they be permanent or of the one-night variety. The two stayed like that, glaring, daring the other to move.

Derek moved first, throwing his wine onto the floor, splashing Greenberg in the process. “My cup is empty,” Derek said curtly. “Fill it.”

Peter released Stiles, though his hands left soft trails of warmth that felt ice-cold in their wake. As Stiles walked over to the glass, he could feel all eyes on the room on him, judging from behind the curtain where the slaves waited, analyzing from Peter’s seat, suffocating from Derek’s. Even Laura was suddenly interested, her gaze piercing as she tried to fill in the blanks. Shakily he poured Derek’s glass, aware he’d have to request more wine from the back soon.

“Set the pitcher down, Stiles,” Derek commanded, still glaring at Peter. Peter merely sat back, still smug, eyes still blazing. Stiles hastily set the pitcher on the table, his mind freaking out.

Derek knew his name. Derek had never said his name before. Never in all their meetings. When had Derek learned his name? 

“Derek, unless you’ve laid claim-“ Peter started, and then Derek’s hand was on Stiles’s head, forcing him downward towards the prince’s chest. Stiles could feel the rough scratch of a beard on his neck, aware of the wolf’s mouth pressed on his jugular, sucking roughly, pressing his lips against it.

It felt amazing. Stiles was pretty sure he made a noise. Maybe a lot of noises as his hands pushed at Derek, trying to balance himself and not lose himself completely within the sensation. Derek’s hand stroked his waist softly, as if offering him an apology.

The attention Derek gave Stiles’s neck felt marvelous. Derek sucked and nibbled and Stiles squirmed as heat blossomed underneath Derek’s touch. If they didn’t have an audience, if Stiles wasn’t a slave, Stiles might have grabbed Derek and pushed him onto the table, everyone be damned. Stiles lifted a hand onto the forearm gripping his waist, squeezing it gently to hopefully show Derek how okay he was with this.

If Derek couldn’t smell that already.

Only Greenberg would see his squeeze, and nobody listened to Greenberg. Besides, if it meant he wouldn’t be taken to Peter’s bed, Stiles would have let _Harris_ mark him.

Derek nipped him tenderly one last time, his mouth parting slowly, like he was reluctant to leave Stiles’s skin. But he let up, his hands releasing Stiles’s waist, and Stiles straightened himself, his fingertips lingering on Derek’s arm. This. When he returned home with the Argents, he’d remember this for years. He’d remember Derek’s body pressed against his, holding him tightly, unable to escape-

Greenberg pulled him back to their standing area, and Stiles blushed as Laura looked at him.

“Just rumors,” she commented dryly, but she stared at Derek. Stiles smirked as he wondered just how big Derek had made the hickey.

“I’m not going to have a repeat of two weeks ago,” Derek replied coldly, shooting a glare at Peter. Peter merely finished his drink as he shrugged.

Laura pointed at Greenberg before Stiles could even move. “Fill it.”

Greenberg squeaked but moved, Stiles watching Peter’s face curiously. If anything, Peter was more amused, not enraged at all.

Laura watched Peter’s face carefully, shaking her head, but motioned to her assistant to come closer. The assistant handed her a tablet of some sort, along with a pen and an ink well, and Laura dipped her pen while mulling over the writing. “Uncle,” she began, “I’m assigning you no less than four guards on your run as you requested. And you may always ask for more,” she added, marking down something on the paper. “And Derek, two to you- though the slaves all love you, so I doubt they’ll attack you in the run.”

“You can never be too careful,” Peter commented, and Derek shrugged. “That’s why I prefer to lead the elite- at least I know they’re planning to kill me.”

Laura rolled her eyes as Derek crossed his arms. “Anyway,” Laura continued, “We should get going. Otherwise they’ll be too restless and we’ll be back well after midnight.” She shot one last glance at Derek and Stiles. “And that wouldn’t do at all, would it?”

 

***

 

Greenberg was completely sympathetic when Stiles told him he couldn’t come to the feast. The other Beacon Hills boy nodded, pulling Stiles into an awkward tight hug. “I’m sure Derek doesn’t actually like you,” Greenberg offered helpfully.

Stiles merely smiled a tight smile in response. He didn’t bother to point out near kissing escapades yesterday or how Derek seemed to always be watching him at night. Greenberg left Stiles at their room, running towards the feast, somehow believing the wolves would be back within the hour. Stiles had seen the chart. They’d be back within three.

Plenty of time, he thought to himself, stepping on Jackson’s bed to reach the key underneath his own pillow, his hand clasping onto the cold iron as soon as he felt it. He stepped down, hiding the key underneath his clothes, looking for a pack he’d hidden underneath Danny’s bed. Stiles opened the pack, checking to make sure it had all he’d stuffed it with late at night, and pulled it with him.

He grabbed his best pair of shoes and left the room, the halls eerily quiet. Nobody was around, all stuffing their faces or running their little wolfy legs outside as fast as they could go.

It made slipping into the back tunnels unnoticed much easier than most nights. Stiles found his way to the serving tunnel, remembering what Scott had said about multiple entrances. Scott. Stiles swallowed, hoping Scott wouldn’t get in trouble for this. But Stiles had made his peace with the fact that Scott would never know about it. Either Stiles left with the Argents or he died, discovered with them. Stiles took a breath as he found the dungeon door, Scott’s key fitting perfectly into the lock. 

The door opened soundlessly. Stiles supposed it wasn’t soundless, but no guards were around to shove him out. Stiles waited just in case, but after a couple of minutes and none arriving, Stiles assumed he was home free. He slid the key into his letter, stuffing both into a hidden shirt pocket. There wasn’t a need for it anymore, but he didn’t want to lose it, just in case.

The inside of the dungeon wasn’t lit well, but there _was_ light. Enough light pooled forth from lamps that Stiles could find his footing on the uneven stones while the dank air weighted down his lungs. He felt glad he didn’t have to work here, let alone _be_ here. He wasn’t sure how Scott could do it.

Stiles wasn’t sure about how he’d find his way to the right cage, either- as far as he knew, the Argents were the only prisoners, but that couldn’t have been likely. Surely the Hales held other prisoners? Or were these the only classy dungeon cells, useful only for holding the greatest of enemies?

“Chris, they’re not coming today,” a lady said up ahead.

Chris. Chris Argent.

Stiles had found them. Relief washed through the Beacon Hills citizen, picking up his pace. The conversation had grown quiet, probably because the Argents had heard his footsteps. Still, Stiles continued until he could make out three people in the mostly dark cage, and he held up his pack as some sort of peace offering.

“Kate sent me,” he explained. “The wolves are out for Sambra- they’re all busy with their run. But when they come back, there won’t be any guards to see you go.”

The older woman, Victoria, pursed her lips while Chris seemed to study him. However, it was Allison who came forward, speaking softly. “You’re the sheriff’s kid, aren’t you? Stiles?”

Whelp, he hadn’t expected Allison of all people to remember him. “Uh, yeah. That’s me. You guys were the Argents giving out rations last winter,” he added. “I’m surprised you remember me.”

Allison shrugged. “I’m surprised you risked sneaking in here to save us,” she countered, and based on what Stiles could make of Victoria’s pleased face, it was a subtle question, an attack on his credentials.

Stiles handed over the pack, letting Chris and Victoria rifle through it as he continued conversing with the youngest Argent. “It was Kate’s idea. In exchange for freeing you, she promised to keep my father from any harm if the war… well, _when_ the war reaches Beacon Hills.” Stiles swallowed. “So I got captured, and I was supposed to work my way to the Dome via good behavior, but I got lucky and ended up here to begin with.”

“No maps?” Chris asked about the pack, raising an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” Stiles replied. “I figured we’d take them on the way out, if possible. I didn’t want to draw more attention to myself than necessary.”

Allison smiled at him, and Chris held up a knife. “It’ll do. If he’s a foe, it was stupid to give us weapons.”

“Yup,” Stiles agreed. “I was under the impression I’d be fleeing with you.”

Victoria glanced up at him, her eyes flashing angrily in the darkness. Stiles continued. “Provided I don’t have to distract the guards, slow you down, or get separated,” he amended. “I _die_ if I stay here.”

Chris glanced over at Victoria, and Allison turned her head, waiting for the Argent matriarch’s command. Her lips grew even thinner, glancing over at the bag, at Stiles, and at her daughter.

“Do you know where the keys to this cage are?” She stared. “Let’s talk outside of these bars.”

Stiles inhaled. He’d been hoping for a yes. Well, there had always been a good chance that either the Argents would kill him or the Hales would; he still had to bet on the chance that saved his father. “I think so,” Stiles replied, “But I don’t work here, so I don’t know for sure.”

Victoria huffed. “Surely you could smell them. The handle’s made of mountain ash.”

Stiles stood. “Just a human,” he informed her, and looked in the direction Allison pointed. It was a dark corner, one he couldn’t see well.

Luckily, if Victoria wasn’t on his side, Allison was. The girl pointed out where the keys were as Stiles searched for them. Stiles was glad- it might have taken him twenty minutes, but would have taken him hours without Allison. He walked back to the cage, purposely touching the mountain ash to assure Victoria he was not a wolf, and undid the lock.

Allison swung the door open.

“There are about four real exits,” Stiles began. “Two lead to the servant’s quarters and the kitchens; the kitchens have a door that leads directly outside, but everyone’s eating there now. There’s a path underneath the great room that also leads outside, but you’ve got the town to get lost and to get supplies in, and I figured that’d be the easier choice.”

“A solid plan,” Chris admitted. “You certainly are your father’s boy.” Stiles felt his heart swell at the words, his eyes suddenly growing cloudy.

“You must miss your father,” Allison told him gently, and touched Chris’s arm as she thought about it.

Stiles couldn't help the pang of jealousy that went through him- even though they were captured, they still could see each other every day. “I do. If… If I don’t make it back,” he started, voice breaking, “Please… please make sure he’s safe.”

He had expected Chris to speak, but Victoria’s voice cut through the air. “We will,” she said, almost gently. Stiles gave a short nod as his thanks, and Victoria continued questioning him about other matters. Stiles was thankful for that; there was no room for tears on this escape mission.

The group agreed to move after the wolves had returned from the run. Chris asked about weapons and herbs, and Stiles told him about Deaton for herbs and described the layout of the Hale Dome to them all. Apparently though they’d been here a long time, they didn’t know any of the layout.

Describing everything didn’t take half as long as it should have, so Stiles started describing the journey to them- what he’d noticed, what paths the horse followed, if there was a stable on the north side of town. Even after all that description, the wolves would have _started_ eating and the stragglers would be still outside, so Allison asked him about Beacon Hills to pass the time.

Stiles swallowed. It hurt to remember his town, but he kept talking, watching as the Argents drank in all of his knowledge, nodding along and planning in their own heads. Stiles mentioned the lack of food, Kate’s newest generals, and dared to be frank and explained how the population was not fond of Kate.

“To be fair,” Stiles finished, knowing he’d stepped on something delicate, “We were always independent, so we wouldn’t have been happy with either side. But the popular rumors are food hoarding and giving her men free leeway to the townspeople, and from what I’ve seen, I’d believe them. Maybe it’s the generals- I know it wasn’t always that way under the Argent rule.”

Victoria pursed her lips again, and Stiles expected he’d be finding his own way home. “You have a point,” Allison began. “We don’t want the people of Beacon Hills as our enemy. I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.”

“She was always good at those,” Chris muttered under his breath. “Well. Lead the way, Stiles. I reckon the stragglers are back by now.”

The bag was packed tighter than when Stiles had left it, only taking up half the space it had before. Plus, the Argents had somehow come up with weapons out of nowhere (maybe that was their special godlike ability over the normal huddled masses). Chris picked up the bag, and Stiles got the feeling the Argents were far more prepared to be running for their lives than he was.

Stiles stood and looked around, remembering the tunnels that the guard had taken him down before. “There’s a periscope up ahead, so you can wait here to make sure it’s clear,” Stiles explained and lead the Argents down it. “If someone’s there, I’ll try and distract him, get him out of the way, but one of the other venues might be a better bet.”

_This was it_ , his mind supplied him. Go up, make sure everything was clear, and he could escape with the Argents. Then he and his Dad would flee Beacon Hills and go live somewhere safe.

“Good luck,” Allison told him while Chris looked around with the Periscope. Stiles gave her a thumbs-up, somewhat encouraged by her cheerful attitude. That was what made a good girlfriend. Or at least what made a good girlfriend for _Scott_.

Stiles climbed up the ladder, breathing, trying not to panic. He could do this. He could escape, run, complain a lot, and make it. Slowly he lifted his hands up and pressed them against the trap door. It moved silently.

Stiles sent a silent thank you to the gods.

Leaving was very quick. He popped out, replaced the lid, and walked around the throne area. Nobody was in sight. He could hear music from the main wing and he smiled as it reached his ears. If his human ears could pick it up, the loud music would make the Argent’s footfalls silent.

Stiles dropped down to the lower level, again scanning the room, thankful that it was bare. The sunlight had started to dwindle, the full moon visible in the dome. Stiles glanced up at it before he walked over to the main door, knocking to see if there were any guards on the other side.

None. Usually a guard would open in case something had gone wrong.

Stiles tensed up in pure excitement and joy, and maybe he did a little dance, but he would never admit it.  He turned and nearly ran back to the throne, his heart soaring. He’d get to see his father. He’d get to be out of this slave-place with wolves and an overly fond Derek and-

As he came to the steps of the stage, Stiles caught a glance of something at his left side. Automatically he stilled, terrified he’d been caught. He turned, his eyes lowered, meek, his mind racing. What was it that had happened this morning? Derek had… Derek marked him?

Then he’d be safe. He could just lie to the wolf and assure him that Derek wanted him in his chambers. The rumors were flying anyway.

But as a familiar hand pressed into his waist and a mouth trailed up the back of his shoulder to his neck, where the mark lay visible on his skin, Stiles realized that wouldn’t be possible. In fact, he realized with a sinking gut, escape might not be possible for him.

“I was looking for you,” Derek whispered into his neck, his voice hot and low and wild. Stiles swallowed, tears prickling at his eyes.

“You found me,” he said, trembling. He knew the Argents would see, that they’d take another way out of the palace, but he wouldn’t be joining them. He shut his eyes- he’d have to give them as much time as he could. For a moment he was glad Derek had tried to sneak up behind him. It meant Derek wouldn’t be able to see his face, and Stiles could use that break to try and make a joke, try to forget about the opportunity that had just slipped away. “You smell like wine,” Stiles teased. “The kind Jackson drinks.”

Derek’s left hand suddenly started making trails up his arm (and oh, that felt nice and comforting), Derek humming his agreement. “You smell…” Derek started, sniffing.

Stiles tensed.

Derek suddenly backed away. “Afraid,” Derek started, his voice turning confused. He continued sniffing, and Stiles was glad for a moment that Derek was a star in many of his dreams- he didn’t have to pretend to be aroused right now. He knew the wolf would be able to smell that, and hopefully it’d distract Derek from any other smells.

Argent smells.

Derek seemed to be pleased by whatever he smelled, moving back to the base of Stiles’s neck. “Stay with me tonight,” Derek whispered softly, a growl hidden at the edges of his voice. Stiles paled, knowing exactly what Derek would want. He wasn’t sure he was ready for something like that.

But the Argents needed time.

“You’ll be lucky this year,” Derek added, his body seemingly content. The fingers that had trailed against his arm turned into strokes, somehow accented by an aborted thrust of Derek’s hips.

There was no doubt what Derek wanted.

“…What if I say no, my lord?” Stiles found himself saying. Not that an ounce of that possibility existed, given the situation, social dynamics, or attraction building in his gut, but some part of Stiles had to know.

Derek frowned. Stiles could feel his frown, and the little release of hot air the wolf’s mouth made sent sparks down his back and heat pool in his gut. It might have been enough to get hard, if Stiles wasn’t so terrified out of his mind.

Stiles _knew_ he couldn’t say no. He knew he was the slave; having a say was not a concern of the Hales. If Stiles knew, it had to be _instinct_ for Derek to know. Yet Derek was thinking, considering it, as if Stiles had an opinion.

“I would send you somewhere where I couldn’t get to you,” Derek admitted to him. “I…I don’t know if I can keep myself away from you, knowing I’ve marked you, knowing you want this.” Derek took another breath. “Only for tonight, though. I’ll be in better control in the morning.”

Talking seemed to help his control, and Derek moved back. He was probably aware of how creepy and messed up his words sounded, Stiles supposed. “If-If you don’t want this,” the lord started, stammering in a way that might have been adorable if Stiles allowed himself to think it, “I understand. I won’t punish you- it’s your say.” Derek swallowed, a sound that shouldn’t have echoed in the slave’s ears. “I… I don’t want you as a servant in my bedroom,” he added softly. “I want you to tease me, the way you’ve been doing.”

Holy shit. Stiles whipped himself around to face the lord. Derek got off on his terrible slave behavior? Derek found that _attractive_? Derek was standing awkwardly, trying to breathe in, trying to keep himself under control. His eyes were glowing blue, but he wasn’t meeting Stiles’s eyes in challenge, a clear sign of submission.

The lord, the werewolf, was submitting to Stiles’s will. Stiles’s eyes went wide at the possibilities before him.

_It’d be a great way to go_ , he told himself.

Derek’s head snapped up at the sound of Stiles’s two feet stepping forward. His breath hitched at Stiles’s hands wrapped themselves around on his own, and his fangs poked out of his mouth as Stiles gave a sly grin. “Lead the way, Derek,” Stiles offered, a challenge to see if Derek did mean what he said about things being even.

Derek’s eyes were wide in shock, looking again and again to the human’s hands to his eyes, fluttering over Stiles before he pulled into a grin of his own, his hands intertwining with Stiles’s fingers. Stiles squeezed the wolf’s hands and grinned wider, mind screaming at him it was a terrible idea.

At least his cock was on board, Stiles relented, and allowed himself to find the way Derek pulled on his arm to be endearing.

 

***

 

Stiles had expected to be roughly handled, to be thrown against the walls and forced to kiss and be pinned down under a born werewolf under the Sambra moon. Instead Derek was patient, timid, even, walking hand in hand with the slave as they made it to his room. Stiles could feel his heart beat as Derek opened the door, placing a placard outside his door that he was not to be disturbed.

Stiles took a hesitant step into the darkened room, but Derek moved swiftly, quickly lighting candles for Stiles’s vision. The room wasn’t anything like his dreams, Stiles realized. It was stark and functional, everything having a place and a purpose. A bench and table were close before him, not even having cushions for people to sit upon.

The bed must have been further back, but Derek choose that point to release Stiles’s hand, shuffling around in the room, searching for something or other. Stiles shifted on his feet, checking to make sure the key had made it safely in the room with him.

“Go ahead and take a seat,” the lord suggested. Stiles wondered if there was actually going to be sex at all. Maybe what Derek wanted was awkward small talk. Maybe Derek didn’t actually want sex, maybe he just wanted Stiles here, a personal ornament to listen to and observe.

Derek sniffed the air, shaking his head and muttering. Stiles wasn’t sure if he should take offense or not. All of his slave training told him to be silent, but his instincts, and the earlier admission of Derek to be equals, pointed to calling Derek out on the behavior.

“What are you saying?” Stiles inquired as he sat on the curved bench, watching as Derek searched through something. Derek froze, clearly not meaning to be caught. He turned, two glasses in his hand.

“You smell nervous,” Derek explained. “Afraid.”

“You’re a 200-pound-or-more werewolf,” Stiles explained. “And I’m 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone here.”

Derek shook his head. “It’s… deeper than that,” he huffed. “I’m not sure I can explain it.” Derek set the glasses down on the table in front of him. “Do… do you want this? I promise, nothing will happen to you if you say no. I’ll even bother Laura so she can hear my promise.”

There was not a thing in the universe that could hide Stiles’s surprise. That statement was deadly serious- a promise in front of the Alpha was to be _kept_. Derek seemed so blatant about it, and he’d been so… shy before, letting Stiles decide what he wanted, not trying for anything more, that Stiles believed Derek’s intentions were honest. There was no doubt Derek would let him go.

But he still needed to stall for time. 

“It’s not that,” Stiles began, trying to figure out what not-lie he could say to explain his nerves. “I… I’ve never slept with anyone,” he settled on, staring at Derek’s eyes. Then he realized what he’d just said, and he blushed, trying to backpedal from explaining to his lord and master that he was a virgin. “I mean, I’ve slept with people, sure, when I was five, but I’ve not had sex…” he looked up, Derek’s form painfully still, eyes flashing, “…ever.”

Stiles swallowed, aware of hungry eyes on him. The pool of arousal began heat up in his stomach. Derek looked like he wanted him even more. "Sometimes I touch myself,” Stiles added, wanting to be devoured by those eyes.

“But nobody else has touched you.” The wolf’s voice was low, trembling. Stiles could see Derek losing control, pressing him into the hard bench as he claimed the human, making Stiles cry out and making him feel blissful, like the dreams Stiles had.

“Yes.”

“And you haven’t touched anybody else.”

Stiles nodded, and Derek moved to a closet, his hands extended to claws. Holy hell. Derek was losing control because of him. Because of how much he _wanted_ Stiles. Stiles rolled the thought over in his mind, giddy at the thought of being wanted. Even before, when there had been rumors, when there had been painfully obvious but not confirmed signs, hell, even when there were confirmed signs, Stiles hadn’t dared to hope.

Now there was no denying drove the wolf crazy.

Derek came back with a pitcher of wine, eyebrows up and preening as he held it out, and Stiles’s heart might have stopped. Derek was _serving_ him. Never mind the fact that Derek’s face had just assured Stiles he wouldn’t be walking straight in the morning, Derek, his master, was pouring Stiles wine.

Derek was trying to show his honesty about being equals, Stiles realized slowly. Rather than his cock this time, the thought squeezed his heart.

“This is how I’d like the evening to go,” Derek began as he set the pitcher down, his eyes still vibrantly blue. He sat across from Stiles, on the same bench. “If you want anything different, you’ll tell me?” Derek waited, eyes shamelessly looking over Stiles’s leaner form.

“As harshly as possible,” Stiles offered, smiling, reaching for his cup.

The corners of Derek’s eyes crinkled in amusement as the wolf grabbed his own cup. “No doubt.” Stiles smiled back at him, taking a sip from the exceptionally good wine Derek offered him. It wasn’t as strong as he expected, but it wasn’t watered down.

Maybe Derek saved it for a special occasion.

“I want to bathe you,” Derek started. “And myself. I only want to smell our scents together,” he explained. Stiles hummed his agreement.

_Good._ Stiles thought that had been on Danny’s list anyway, and it would encourage touching. Now that he knew he’d be allowed, Stiles could easily picture his hands roaming all over Derek. He swallowed, aware his pupils were wider than they should have been.

“Then I’d like to take you to the bed,” Derek continued, his eyes still dark and lustful as he watched Stiles’s reaction carefully. He took a drink, watching for any sign Stiles might give him. “I… I want to see you come apart, to make you come over and over again.”

Stiles flushed as the image went straight to his cock, knowing Derek wouldn’t even need to see his face to know what his answer was. This whole set-up sounded really good. Stiles picked up his glass, but swirled it around rather than drink the liquid. Not the worst way to die, really. And he would die after this.

Shit. Stiles stopped swirling the liquid, aware his hands had started trembling again. 

“But we can slip in a massage or something for you if you aren’t feeling relaxed,” Derek added hastily, his eyes looking over Stiles’s form. _Shit_ , Stiles thought, _he noticed_. Stiles set the drink down, deciding to try and fight his nerves with humor, praying Derek would assume it was just first-time jitters and not something else.

Stiles scoffed at the wolf, waving his hand. “Psh. Just admit you want to run your hands all over this.” He gestured to himself, cock twitching as he realized Derek’s eyes were following his gesture- slowly, heatedly, and Stiles wondered if he would melt under that gaze.

“I admit it. ” The words felt shameless, nothing more than a simple truth. Derek might as well have said there were clouds in the sky.

The cold honesty made Stiles shiver. Derek moved next to the human, offering his warmth in silence if it was wanted. Stiles leaned in, his heart pounding. Derek wanted him.

_Somebody_ finally wanted him. It made sense why this was happening at such a shitty time to admit feelings to anyone. Nothing truly good could happen in Stiles’s life, could it?

“Stiles,” Derek started, pointedly not touching him. “I… it sounds dumb, and it probably is, but regardless of my own feelings, I just want to make you feel good tonight.”

“Why?” Stiles asked, pointedly not looking away from his glass. He took a drink, letting the last of the liquid spill over his tongue.

“You seem to be having trouble grasping this concept,” Derek teased at the slave, and Stiles blinked in another surprise. Derek had just verbally joked with him. In a kind of painful, "I’ve never joked before" way.

But it was a joke.

Somehow, Stiles found it comforting. He rewarded the poor-joking werewolf by leaning further into his space, pressing their bodies together. Weird. He could feel Derek breathing.  His skin felt warm, a heat sinking into Stiles’s bones.

It felt nice.

“What if I wanted to do this all night?” Stiles tested, and he could feel Derek’s smile as Derek moved to better cradle Stiles’s body.

“Then I would be happy,” Derek answered. “But I’d also suggest moving to the bed. Your butt will fall asleep after a couple hours of sitting on this bench.”

Another joke. Stiles wiggled against Derek’s unyielding flesh. “Hmm. That’s a tough decision, there. ” His hands reached for Derek’s cup intentionally, drinking out of the glass. He could feel Derek’s eyes watching him, and he leaned his throat back, just a little, making sure Derek could watch him swallow every last drop of the wine.

“Tease,” Derek murmured, but he didn’t sound displeased about it.

Stiles finished the wine with a loud exhale, setting the glass back down. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied, eyes glancing up at Derek’s, something smoldering in his gut.

He would enjoy tonight. He would. The wine helped him relax.

Derek’s arms moved to slowly wrap themselves around him. Stiles sat up quickly, narrowly escaping their grip. Noting Derek’s frown and confusion, the human explained quickly. “I like your plan. I do, I totally do like it, all right? I’m not gonna leave.”

Derek’s eyes grew hopeful again, and it suited the wolf. A great look. “I just thought maybe…we should follow your plan? Get to the bath?”

The wolf let out a growl, his hands resting on the table as he stared at Stiles. “Don’t humor me-“

Stiles rolled his eyes and turned over on the bench, swinging himself over Derek’s lap. Derek stared blankly before Stiles leaned in for a chaste kiss, his hands keeping themselves on Derek’s shirt and not inside it, keeping their chests apart.

The kiss wasn’t too long, and Derek still remained blank and still underneath it. Stiles figured he’d shocked Derek into stone. Which, admittedly, was kind of a cool power.

The human pulled back, brown eyes searching for any sign of dissatisfaction on Derek’s face. But Derek just grinned stupidly, his own eyes flashing blue. His hands reached across Stiles’s waist and held tight.

“I want to,” Stiles told him softly, eyes still searching in Derek’s blue ones. “I’m just nervous, okay?”

Derek nodded slowly, as if moving at normal speed would shatter Stiles into a thousand pieces. Stiles smiled back as he pressed his forehead against Derek’s sternum, gazing down at their laps instead of at Derek’s face. Maybe Derek was just as nervous.

“Is the bath still an option?” he inquired softly, and Derek’s hands suddenly reached for his ass. Derek stood, holding Stiles up in the air effortlessly.

Stiles almost laughed, his hands clinging to Derek’s neck in an attempt not to fall off. “Still not impressed,” Stiles told Derek as the wolf started walking. “I’m not half as heavy as five freakin’ deer.”

Derek’s face betrayed a smirk as he planted his nose in the crook of Stiles’s neck, still looking forward and watching his steps. Stiles glanced behind him, noting they were passing the bed.

Fuck that bed was huge. And it seemed soft. And he and Derek were going to… do things there.

Derek growled as Stiles shifted his hips at the thought.

“So tell me of your other mighty feats,” Stiles continued as they passed through a doorway. A toilet was to the right, hidden by a door probably thick enough so the wolves couldn’t smell inside. He changed his tone, trying to be seductive. “I want to be impressed.”

Derek stumbled a bit at Stiles’s voice, but he kept his own deadpan. “I once told Laura she was wrong,” he joked. “Peter came to meals for weeks after that.” He huffed, moving his nose through Stiles’s hair, right behind his ear. Stiles squirmed at the sudden onslaught of hot breath.

“Wow,” Stiles replied in mock awe as Derek set him down. His mouth opened to say something else witty, but Derek turned him around, showing him the bath.

The huge bath. Stiles noted it was big. Very big. Nothing like the buckets he’d had back home. “Wow,” Stiles murmured softly, wondering if all of his dorm could sit in the tub.

The bath steamed, probably still from a torrid fire beneath. Through the steam Stiles thought he could see a fountain of a moon, pouring fresh water, and maybe some very delicately engraved stones on the side.

Derek’s hands squeezed his hips gently, his mouth reaching Stiles’s neck again. “Add this to the list of reasons why you’re my favorite Hale,” Stiles blabbed on.

His neck tickled as Derek chuckled into his flesh, lips never opening, but pressed against Stiles’s skin all the same. “I’m glad you like it,” Derek rumbled. Stiles’s knees suddenly felt weak as his gut clenched, heat searing through him.

There was no way he could make it through the bath. Nope.

Then Derek whispered, “I want to touch you,” and said it in this honest, low and rough way that had Stiles’s cock hard in a second. Stiles’s breath caught as he wetted his lips, nodding. His gut twisted- was he supposed to touch Derek back? Did he just stand-

The wolf’s hands, clawed hands, pressed against his sides as if trying to memorize his shape through the clothing. The tips caught in the fabric, occasionally ripping something, and gods help Stiles if that didn’t go straight to his cock. Stiles lifted a fist to his mouth to try and focus, try and not think about the way his body wanted to bend under Derek’s touch, the way the pads of Derek’s fingers sent blossoming heat down his spine or the way Derek’s claws sent electricity up it.

Derek’s hands roamed over his form, upwards, towards his arms, and finally back down to his ass, squeezing gently.

Stiles couldn’t hold back that wail. Gasp. It was a gasp, not a wail, and it certainly didn’t bounce off of the walls or anything. Derek squeezed again, and Stiles shut his eyes as he tried to convince his throbbing cock not to come right then. Fuck. Derek wasn’t even pressed against him, too much cold air between them, but the reverence Derek held for Stiles’s body made the human want to scratch off his skin.

“Derek,” Stiles whispered, unsure of what he wanted, but he trusted Derek to know. Hell, Derek’s nose had probably told him-

That was a hand on his cock, Stiles realized. He really did gasp this time as Derek rubbed him through the thin fabric of his pants, palming him as the other hand kept squeezing his ass. “You’re wet,” Derek mumbled, as if surprised.

Stiles groaned, his hips jutting forward into Derek’s grip. “Of course I’m fucking wet, Mr. Magic hands,” he snapped. “I’m practically dripping from your goddamn foreplay!”

“Foreplay?” The wolf sounded unsure, confused.

Oh.

If that wasn’t foreplay, then what… what would it be like? Stiles shut his eyes, wondering if he could take much more of whatever Derek did. The hand on his ass moved to the front of his pants, dipping within the waistline and-

Stiles came.

Quickly.

Embarrassingly.

_In his pants._

The afterglow ruined, Stiles’s eyes shot open as he started to panic. “Oh gods,” he uttered. “Oh, fuck, way to go, Stiles, you goddamned moron-“

Derek growled, pressing Stiles against his form. “Stop,” he commanded, and Stiles calmed some, though mostly due to Derek’s really fine chest and less due to his tone or command. Even in his post orgasmic state those muscles stirred something in him.

Stiles breathed a couple of times, inhaling when Derek’s chest fell. “I shouldn’t have come so quickly,” Stiles murmured, cheeks red.

Derek merely squeezed a little tighter. “Don’t worry about it,” he assured Stiles. “We still have plenty of time tonight. The only thing that matters is if you’ve enjoyed yourself here.”

The words were kind, perhaps far kinder than a master should be speaking to his slave. Stiles needed the comfort, though, and he relaxed. Derek’s grip loosened as he did so, the wolf nearly preening. “I’m impressed by your _lack_ of foreplay,” Stiles decided to offer, “Because holy hell I didn’t realize you could be that hot.”

Derek’s hands released him. “Well, then, you’ll have to undress yourself,” Derek joked at him, gently setting him upright and retreating to the toilet they’d passed earlier. “Otherwise you might come four times before we even start bathing.” The door shut behind him.

Stiles bit his lip. Judging by _Derek’s_ pants, Stiles figured the wolf was about to do some releasing of his own. He grinned, a sense of glee rushing through his head as he realized Derek was all talk.

_Speaking of arousal_ , he thought, _better wash up_. He pulled off his clothes, leaving them in a pile in a corner and planned to get them in the morning. The slave glanced around, noting the wash station- a couple of meager soaps and towels aligned a shelf, with a bucket beside them. Stiles grabbed the bucket and filled it with water from the tub, taking it back to the station. He squatted down, running a wet towel over his skin and started washing himself with the unscented lye bars that burned worse than Greenberg’s mother’s soap.

They burned. What on earth did werewolves do to their skin? Stiles rinsed himself off in record time, and finally allowed himself to soak in the tub, hoping his own skin wouldn’t be affected. Even the slave soaps were better than this stuff.

Not only did the water ease the pain, it also seemed to ease the knot of stress in Stiles’s stomach. He rolled his shoulders back as he sat near the fountain, adjusting himself to prepare for the moment Derek stepped out of the toilet. On the other hand, he could just walk (swim) over to the lip of the bath, arms hanging over the sides and stay there, as he’d probably chat while Derek washed up anyway.

Decisions, decisions.

Dark thoughts floated upward, and Stiles slammed them back down.

Decisions, decisions.

Luckily, Derek didn’t take too much longer. The wolf stepped out of the toilet already naked. Stiles applauded, laughing at the wolf as Derek glared at him. Derek made his way over to the washing station and grabbing the bucket. “Took you long enough,” Stiles announced, moving (swimming) over to the edge of the bath closest to Derek. “Seriously, though, I wanted to see you get off.”

Derek raised an eyebrow as he filled the bucket up with water. “Just pissed,” Derek informed him dryly, stepping back to the soaps. He used a cloth to wet his skin, Stiles’s eyes on his form. Greedily Stiles took in the built form before him, eyes trailing over Derek’s very well built muscles.

Stiles bit his lip as he wondered if he could _eat_ off those things. They flexed and bulged as Derek soaped himself up, letting the soap linger far longer than Stiles thought healthy, given the lye content of the soap.

Whatever. Stiles wasn’t a werewolf. Maybe Derek could take the pain. Stiles pushed the thought aside, still admiring the view. “No wonder you could carry me,” Stiles commented, his voice strangely small in the large room. “Even if you weren’t a wolf I’m pretty sure you could just pick me up and toss me around.”

Derek’s cheeks flushed a moment as the lord turned away, but he reached for the bucket and poured the water over his skin. Stiles continued to watch unabashedly, painfully recording to memory the way Derek shook the droplets off like a wild dog.

“Hey,” Stiles started, but Derek stood upright then and Stiles no longer cared about what he wanted to say. Derek looked down at him, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. Stiles swallowed, his face bright red. “Add one more thing to the list of reasons I like you,” the human added, turning away.

His dreams hadn’t come close to the actual size of Derek’s dick. Derek wanted to put that inside him. Stiles’s ass twitched at the thought.

Derek clambered into the bath and sat across from the human, well noting how often Stiles unabashedly kept staring at Derek’s cock. It wasn’t like there was any other reason for them to be here. Derek shifted his hips a little, his face still slightly flushed. “You like it that much?” he asked, the tone somewhere between teasing and shy.

Stiles looked up. “It’s impressive,” Stiles informed him, sitting back in the water, letting the warmth pour over his shoulders. “I’m pretty sure if you had been pantsless the first time we met, I wouldn’t have mouthed off to you. At all.” Stiles paused. “Well, maybe I would have mouthed something,” he added, and then realized what he’d just said and dropped deep enough that his mouth was covered by water.

Derek smiled. “I like that about you. You tell it like it is.” The tone was strangely comforting.

Stiles felt himself blushing again, keeping his head under the water. Derek spoke so starkly, no shame attached to anything he said, it was endearing. He didn’t hide anything.

“Though I didn’t realize I liked you until I saw you gathering herbs,” Derek followed up, noting the embarrassment that radiated off the other man. “I…” he stopped, also falling into the water, giving himself an excuse not to speak.

Stiles scooted closer, head bobbing up. “That’s not fair,” Stiles chided. “I wanna know when you liked me. Or at least say other things you like about me.”

But Derek stayed under the water, ears red. Stiles sighed dramatically and waddled over to sit next to the Hale lord, pressing their sides together. He’d told Derek why he liked him. It was only fair, after all.

“I like your voice,” Derek murmured over the top of the water, soft enough that Stiles could barely hear. “I like the way your hands move. The way you move. It makes me…” And Derek trailed off, mouth under the water again.

“Oh no.” Stiles caught Derek’s head in his hands, forcing the lord’s head back up above the water. “You finish that sentence. I never get to hear things like this.”

The wolf shot him the biggest puppy dog eyes Stiles had ever seen, a plea not to speak. Stiles wouldn’t have it.  “If it’s dumb, I’ll blame the moon for your choice of words, okay?”

Derek shut his eyes, bobbing back up in the bath to continue. It took him a moment to speak, and Stiles let him have the moment. “The way you move makes me want to catch you,” Derek finally admitted, eyes focused on the moon fountain. “I want to pin you down, to rub our scents together, and make you _mine_.”

It did sound stupid, Stiles thought, but his cock seemed to agree with it, so he simply remained silent. Derek took the silence for judgment and turned away. Stiles gently touched his back, trying to assure Derek it was okay.

“I’ve dreamt of that,” Stiles admitted. Derek’s surprise came in the form of his body tensing. “I mean, I’m not going to say that I liked you before, ‘cause I didn’t know you before. I still don’t know you. But I find you very attractive. And I’ve totally dreamed of that. And maybe some other things.”

Totally not looking to see if Derek was hard (he was, his cock upright and twitching underneath the water), Stiles added, “Have you ever dreamed of me?”

Derek’s eyes shut as his hips jerked. Stiles grinned as he moved himself behind Derek, squishing in between the hard form of the bath wall and the hard form of Derek’s back. He slowly sat down, maybe letting his cock drag along the planes of Derek’s back.

Derek didn’t stop him, his arms wrapping around Stiles’s legs, helping the human adjust behind him. “Yes, though I’ve had more than sex dreams with you.”

“Hmm,” Stiles thought. “But sex dreams are the most fun.” Derek had been dreaming about him, in a non-sex dream way? “Tell me,” he added, his head dizzy. His hands traced the tattoo between Derek’s shoulder blades, wondering if Derek would lose it if he licked a stripe down this well-formed back.

Maybe Stiles would lose it first. It wasn’t like he was trying to hide his hardness from the wolf. Hell, Derek could probably smell it already.

“There was a battle on a hill,” Derek began, and Stiles sighed, resting his head on the tattoo. Of course Derek wouldn’t choose a sex dream to talk about. “I was fighting Kate Argent.”

Something cold went through Stiles’s gut, something sobering. The dizziness of arousal faded away while Derek continued. “We fought and we ended up in a house. Her base.”

Stiles felt like he was falling. He grabbed onto Derek’s shoulders for support, to keep him from the darkness below. Derek shifted, nose sniffing the air, voice uncertain. “And she held you out in front of her, trapped in a cage-“

Stiles’s hands gripped Derek’s shoulders tightly, his breathing coming quickly. Panic started to build up again, the room spinning and sloshing and whining and

No. _Derek_ was whining. Derek had turned around in front of him, whining, hands on Stiles’s face as he searched it, trying to figure out what went wrong.

Stiles took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm himself- Derek wouldn’t have known. And he needed to come back, to help Derek through whatever awkwardness was going on because he was pretty sure Derek wanted him to take initiative in this encounter, some weird concept of making sure Stiles consented 100%. And that was good. Derek was good. Stiles breathed, trying to come back.

When Stiles looked up at him, Derek still waited, still upset, his brow creased with worry. “Too real,” Stiles told him, placing his hands over Derek’s gently. “Just a little too real right now, sorry.”

Derek nodded in understanding, but his hands didn’t leave Stiles’s face. Stiles took a couple more breaths before he nodded his own head, guiding Derek back down in the same position, though this time he wrapped his hands around Derek’s shoulders. The wolf was comforting, never leaving, just breathing and touched Stiles’s hands reassuringly, letting Stiles do as he pleased.

Not something Stiles had expected of a lord when he arrived here, to be honest. It pained Stiles, Derek’s straightforward affection, and Derek’s need to know it was returned. Derek didn’t want power or he would have sent Stiles home by now- Stiles had crossed the line far too many times. No, Derek just wanted what he had said before- he wanted Stiles to feel good. That was it. The realization was maddening.

Derek was a kind man. Probably one of the few who existed in this world. He didn’t understand everything, but he was patient, wanting Stiles to come to him rather than pinning him down.

“Thanks,” Stiles whispered in his ear, and Derek squeezed his hand. The affection was sweet, too sweet, sweet enough to burst his heart, so Stiles diverted it, placing a small kiss behind Derek’s ear. The wolf shuddered underneath him.

“So. Sex dreams? I think I can deal with sex dreams.”

Derek turned to look at him, eyes unsure if they should continue, but fuck him. Stiles wanted to, and he knew Derek certainly did. He leaned forward, nearly climbing over Derek’s back, and kissed the side of Derek’s mouth encouragingly. “I’ll start,” he assured Derek, keeping their cheeks pressed together, their noses almost touching. “So the first dream I ever had of you involved your back,” Stiles admitted. “I was helping you out of a robe or something. And I just traced your back, kinda like earlier, but with my hands.”

Derek took a long breath. “Show me,” he requested, and Stiles leaned back.

“You’d have to stand-“

Derek stood immediately, Stiles half-clinging to him he did so. Stiles removed his arms and regained his own balance, their thighs still covered in the water.

“Um,” Stiles began, “We might need a more… room?”

Derek huffed, his cock hard and still swaying from the upright bolt. Once Stiles’s eyes landed on that strong appendage, he decided to ignore his earlier advice in favor of getting better acquainted with it now. Wickedly, Stiles wondered if he could get a revenge of sorts by getting Derek to come the same way he’d made Stiles come earlier.

Derek started to move and Stiles grabbed his wrists. “Let’s just see what we can do here,” the human requested.

Derek growled. “Make up your mind.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and started by placing his hands on each shoulder blade. “You were taking off your robe,” he started, his hands tracing the muscles to his shoulders. Holy fuck, his shoulders were huge- he could practically feel their power as the wide things flexed under his touch. “Um, and then of course your robe disappeared. And suddenly I was supposed to oil you down,” Stiles admitted. “Dream logic, really.”

If Derek knew he lied about the oil part, he didn’t say anything. Because admitting that he’d come from just touching Derek’s back in the dream was a little embarrassing. Kind of like coming just by being touched through his clothes embarrassing.

Stiles stopped speaking, transfixed on what he felt beneath his fingertips. Cords of muscles lay coiled as he ran his hands up and down Derek’s biceps, wondering what Derek must have done to keep them that way. He squeezed a little, and Derek responded by flexing his muscles, probably enjoying the little gasp Stiles made. Show-off.

Stiles moved back from his arms and onto the wolf’s sides, feeling dorsal muscles rise and fall as Derek heavily breathed in and exhaled. Stiles couldn’t bear to see what Derek’s cock looked like right now for fear of coming _again_ , but Stiles was fairly certain Derek’s cock bobbed angrily, agitated on the other side. Hell, his own cock dripped, aroused much faster than he thought it would after coming already.

_Right. Muscles. Not thinking about cocks_ , Stiles reminded himself.

Derek’s form was taut and tight. Stiles swallowed, his mouth feeling like it was full of cotton before he moved his hands to Derek’s hips, pressing his mouth on the spine of Derek’s back. The lord shuddered underneath Stiles’s lips, his back pressing against them as his breaths turned heavy. Stiles grinned against Derek’s back- how did he like it, huh, all this teasing from behind? Still, Stiles couldn’t help but want to feel more of Derek’s body beneath him, so his hands moved forward on Derek’s hips, dragging Derek back to his own crotch and pressing their bodies together.

Derek let out a gasp as Stiles rocked his crotch forward, his cock wanting friction and heat from the body before him. Gingerly Stiles moved his hands around the front of the lord’s hips, finding a patch of hair and following it down, knowing what there was to discover.

Derek twitched underneath him, his hands suddenly grabbing Stiles’s, leading them to his dick, a wordless request. Stiles swallowed as he bit his lip, his hands shakily taking in a heavy heat, exploring what his eyes couldn’t see.

Derek growled as Stiles wrapped his fingers around the flesh he found. Stiles squeezed the dick in his hands gently, fingers running up and down it and Derek ground his ass against Stiles’s hips. “Holy hell, Derek,” he whimpered, wondering what Derek planned to use that cock for. “You’re so fucking huge, seriously.”

Derek gave a gasp as he thrust into Stiles’s hands, no indication that he had heard Stiles at all. Little hairs suddenly pressed against Stiles’s lips- shit. Derek was transforming.

Stiles paused for a moment, trying to figure out what to do next in his heady haze of arousal. Derek was transforming, but probably due to the moon, to Sambra, and to being so close to coming, really. If he made the wolf come, Derek would be placated, right? Stiles hoped as he made a fist with his right hand, his left following Derek’s shaft lower, finding tight and heavy balls underneath.

Everything was massive on Derek. Stiles couldn’t even fit both testicles in his hand. Derek thrust again, nearly breaking Stiles’s grip. “Come on,” Derek growled. “Stiles, come on.”

Stiles grinned, moving his head over to Derek’s shoulder- huh his ears were pointed. Stiles didn’t know the ears of wolves changed shape. “Didn’t know you liked that,” Stiles teased, his wrist tightening as he moved up and down Derek’s shaft, picking up speed. “I was too busy admiring.”

Derek groaned, his eyes closing, teeth elongating. Stiles nuzzled into his neck. “I wanna see this next time,” Stiles whispered. “Figures we both would be behind the other, but gods, Derek, the noises you’re making-“ Stiles ground his hips forward into Derek’s ass, making sure the lord knew what effect he had on Stiles, “I wanna watch you come next time, maybe all over me, yeah?”

Fuck, that thought made Stiles lightheaded, and he kept talking about the fantasy, Derek now fucking into his open fist. “Wanna be marked as yours, Derek, so nobody else can claim me. Maybe you can fuck me in the ass or something, keep me plugged up full of your come, breeding me until I-“

Derek howled as he came. A full on howl, echoing through the room and shaking one of the tiles off the wall. Stiles kept on moving, up and down, pumping Derek for all that he was worth. Finally Derek reverted back to his human form, shuddering and over-sensitive.

“Stop, Stiles,” was all he managed to say before Stiles released him from the grip, hands up and open.

“Stopped, stopped, so stopped,” Stiles allowed, looking over the bath to see where Derek’s seed had spilled. He looked past Derek, only to note white on the opposite side of the bath. “You really caught some air there,” he murmured, his own dick twitching again at the thought. What would that feel like inside of him?

Derek merely leaned over the side of the tub, arms supporting him as he breathed in and out, a clear blissed-out expression on his face. Stiles stayed back, unsure if he should approach Derek with his own “problem” or if he should go in the bathroom and take care of it. Hell, if their roles were reversed he’d probably be done with all sex for the evening.

His cock twitched, reminding him otherwise. Stiles swallowed. What…? There would be more touching. More exploring. And more wolfing out.

Stiles was totally on board with all of that.

“Were you serious?” Derek asked softly as he breathed in, hands gripping the edge of the pool like a vice. Almost as if he knew what Stiles was about to ask, the lord clarified, “About me marking you?”

Heat poured into Stiles’s gut as he thought about the morning. Derek’s nostrils flared, smelling. “Yeah,” Stiles told him. “It… it was really fucking hot, dude. I kinda wished your family wasn’t there, so you could just take me over that table.”

Derek groaned, claws popping out of his hands. “What if I marked you all over?” he managed to ask, as if it hurt to say _words_. “What if there wasn’t an inch of skin without a bruise?”

Stiles shuddered at the thought, his cock leaking pre-come above the water. “I’d probably be on edge for days,” Stiles admitted, and Derek glanced over at him. Stiles’s dick pounded at the attention, the blood in his face draining to head southward, his heart pounding in his ears.

Blue eyes flashed as Derek groaned again. “I need to take you to the bed,” Derek began, and Stiles nodded far too quickly. The bed. The bed was a good place. Full of sheets and probably things needed for sex and holy hell was Stiles a virgin anymore? Did you stop being a virgin after you touched someone’s dick?

The realization slapped him in the face. Stiles had just touched Derek’s dick. And heard Derek come. And felt Derek come.

Holy hell.

The werewolf watched him warily, but Stiles shook his head as Derek moved to come over. “I’m okay,” Stiles reassured him, stepping up out of the tub. “Just thinking about uh, you know.” Stiles gestured with his hand, and Derek relaxed with a small smile. “I’m pretty sure you wolfed out there for a minute.”

“I did,” Derek supported. “Careful, it’s slippery,” he added as Stiles stepped out of the tub. Luckily Stiles didn’t slip and fall, but he did look around for towels, knowing he was exposed and Derek could see everything. He kept his back to the wolf, not wanting to quite reveal how excited he was. “You have no idea how much you appeal to a wolf,” the werewolf added, and Stiles could hear water slosh as Derek got out of the tub.

“Just one wolf I want to appeal to,” Stiles told him, looking over his shoulder at Derek’s free hanging cock. “The best one, really.” Whelp. If Derek wasn’t going to be ashamed about nudity, Stiles wasn’t going to be, either.

Derek sent him a grin, one that went back to his groin. Soon it’d be too hard to walk. Just from interacting with Derek.

Suddenly Derek was spinning him around, eerily similar to the night before, save for their nakedness, and this time neither of them hesitated to meet each other’s mouth. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck, needily pressing against his lips. Their bodies pressed together, Stiles rubbing up against Derek eagerly, his legs trying to climb up Derek again. Derek merely grabbed each leg in understanding, lifting Stiles up, hauling the human back to the bed. Stiles grinned against Derek’s mouth- he would never get tired of that.

Each kiss left Stiles feeling breathless, each making him feel ashamed at his own lack of kissing skill. He wanted more kisses from Derek, to copy and mimic whatever techniques Derek had learned. Stiles couldn’t combine their mouths together enough, Derek’s tongue now invading his mouth, exploring the inside. It was a strange sensation, one that made him light-headed.

Suddenly Stiles was flung onto the soft bed. He bounced at least three times before his body came to rest, looking up at the wolf standing over him. Stiles’s eyes raked over Derek’s form, anticipation and excitement welling up in his gut, his head spinning from the idea that all of that wolf was for him. Stiles looked again, knowing he’d seen the form already, but somehow he couldn’t believe how things were going, nor how much he enjoyed them. He licked his lips.

“Come here,” he uttered lowly, heart clenching as he realized Derek was waiting for him to give the go ahead.

It should have been criminal the way Derek sauntered over the bed, crawling on top of Stiles. Stiles could feel the wolf’s chest hairs scrape across his skin as he climbed over the human. Stiles shivered, his hands wrapping around Derek’s neck and pulling him up into a kiss.

This time when Derek kissed, he collapsed on top of Stiles, pinning him down. No, this time there was nothing Stiles could do to escape Derek’s delicious weight on top of him and he spread his legs wider, feeling Derek’s hardening cock rubbing against his own.

“Derek,” Stiles gasped, jerking his hips up, wanting to find that beautiful friction against Derek. Derek responded by licking Stiles’s lips, kissing down along his jaw and finally making it to Stiles’s neck, where he began sucking.

Stiles bucked underneath him, and Derek growled as he tried to hold Stiles steady. The pleasure was too much- if he hadn’t come already Stiles was sure he would have come then. Derek’s mouth was sending blissful fragments of heat down his spine, while Derek’s cock was rutting against his own, hard and thick and Stiles groaned as he felt Derek’s balls trace up his shaft.

Derek grabbed Stiles’s hands suddenly, stopping his movements. “Trust me,” Derek whispered in his neck. “This will feel great.”

Stiles couldn’t think, he was so blissed out, but he nodded quickly, knowing Derek wouldn’t move until he gave the okay. Derek continued kissing down Stiles’s chest, following his abs, and started mouthing at his trail of hair down to his cock- the fucker was tugging on it, making Stiles ache in the best of ways. His hips arched up and Stiles swore, unable to move any further. Derek still had his hands on Stiles’s wrists, holding him tight.

Derek moved down into Stiles’s pubic hair, pressing his nose fully against his crotch, so close to where Stiles wanted his mouth to be, and Stiles was left panting, trying to form coherent thoughts. There was no way a guy would do something like that, right? Derek pressed a kiss next to his cock before looking up at Stiles.

Derek was totally planning that. Stiles merely gave a weak cry as Derek moved to breathe on the head of the human’s cock. “That’s dirty,” was all Stiles could say before Derek took his cock in his mouth, and Stiles threw his head back at the sensation. He’d never felt anything close to this before.

Stiles thrust his hips upward at the beautiful wet heat, wanting to feel more of it, wanting to encase himself completely within it. He rolled, squirming, trying to find some semblance of control over the situation, but Derek’s hands held him still, keeping him pinned. Stiles keened as Derek suddenly engulfed all of him, nose pressing on the exact spot he hand earlier.

Stiles hadn’t been prepared for this. Danny hadn’t ever mentioned this.

“Derek,” Stiles cried out again, crazy with sensation as Derek swallowed. His stomach quivered and he felt his balls tighten, close to release. “Derek, please,” he begged, and Derek looked up at him through hooded eyes, capturing Stiles in their glowing blue light. Stiles whimpered, his hands gripping the sheets, air uselessly filling his lungs.

Derek swallowed again, his eyes never leaving Stiles. Stiles shut his instead, releasing down Derek’s throat, keening into the air as his hips lifted off the bed, his orgasm being pulled out of him in the best way. Derek swallowed everything Stiles gave him, even continuing to suck until Stiles was soft again.

The human gave out a couple of choked off sobs, finally able to plead with the wolf to let him go. Derek let him fall from his mouth, looking up at Stiles. Stiles swore he was preening. Stiles let his head fall back onto the sheets, taking a couple of steading breaths as Derek climbed back on top of him, releasing his wrists.

“Fuck, that was amazing,” Stiles breathed. “And you wanted to do this all night?”

“If I can,” he answered, pressing a kiss to Stiles’s chest.

“Best idea ever,” Stiles murmured, feeling Derek’s lips as they explored the skin beneath them.

 

***

 

Stiles awoke the next morning before the wolf, but that wasn’t surprising at all. Usually wolves were up on full moons. When he’d tapped out the night before, Derek had curled up next to him, watching him like a creeper whenever he woke up.

Stiles figured fair was fair, so now he was the one looking at the other’s slumbering form. Derek didn’t seem like he was peaceful, occasionally reaching out for something, but his face was neutral. As Stiles brought a hand to lightly graze against Derek’s cheek, his thighs painfully reminded him of where Derek had sucked last night. It felt like an electric wire within him, low and hot and brilliant. Stiles glanced around the room, trying to take in what he hadn’t been able to in the dark the night before. Nothing of note, he realized, but there was a mirror next to the bed.

Stiles gazed his double in the mirror- naked, covered in hickeys, gently caressing his bedmate. He gave a small smile. If this were a different world, maybe, life would continue like this for a while.

Reality weighed down on his soul, threatening to crush him. This _wasn’t_ a different world. He was a slave, Derek a lord, and Stiles had previously slept with Derek _after_ letting his worst enemies free.

Stiles was fucked. No way out of that. But until he was caught, he was determined to keep acting like normal. And that meant getting to his job this morning.

The human looked for a clock but didn’t see one. It was probably time to get ready to serve the lords for breakfast, and he’d have to find his clothes and run to greet Harris. That was, if the guardsmen hadn’t smelled him in the dungeon already.

Stiles looked in the mirror again, a thrill running through him as he caught sight of the hickeys, noticing how they dotted over his skin. It was a great way to go before he died, he thought.

He wondered if Scott would tell his father what had happened. Quickly Stiles rubbed at his eyes, trying to keep them from falling.

Derek stirred next to him. “Smell sad,” he murmured, his hand reaching up to take Stiles’s in his own. He didn’t comment on how wet it felt, or how Stiles sniffled, and the slave was grateful.

“I have to leave you,” Stiles deflected, far more aware of his voice breaking than Derek was. “I’m gonna go flaunt all these hickeys at Harris. He’ll freak out.”

Derek didn’t seem to get the joke, but his eyes stayed closed- Stiles felt glad the wolf was pretending to be sleepy. He’d seen Jackson go wild when he thought Lydia was upset, and he’d seen enough wolves here to know it wasn’t just Jackson being a dick, and so Derek must have been fighting his instincts so Stiles could have a private moment.

Derek nuzzled against Stiles’s hand. “Stay,” he pleaded, his voice soft. “I’ll make it okay.”

Stiles sighed, knowing there wouldn’t be any arguing with the lord. Besides, Derek had probably also had his share of silent tears, and would make good on his promise of making it okay. Stiles wanted to stay longer, in the safety of this room. His heart ached as he made up his mind.

“Ok,” Stiles assured him, settling back under the covers, “But only because you’re so cute in the morning.” The wolf scoffed, wrapping his arms around the human, breathing in his scent before nuzzling into Stiles’s chest. It was adorable, hands down. Nobody would believe that the stoic lord ever acted like this.

They lay like that for a couple moments, their eyes going heavy as their breaths evened out. Stiles was willing to bet even their heartbeats had synced up. It was peaceful, surrounded by Derek’s scent, by the warmth of his arms, and listening to the rise and fall of his chest.

Suddenly Derek let out a whine, tensing. Stiles’s eyes flew open, about to speak when Derek’s door flew open and Laura- Alpha Hale, Stiles corrected himself, raced in. She took a moment to give a sly look to the two of them in Derek’s bed as they adjusted themselves, trying to be formal despite their intimate embrace. Derek wasn’t letting go of the embrace, either, so Stiles just shrugged awkwardly at the guard behind the alpha, who shrugged back at him in empathy.

“Just a rumor,” she said to herself.

“What do you want, Laura,” Derek groaned. “We were up all-“

“The Argents have escaped,” Laura cut him off. Derek let go of Stiles, sitting up rapidly and throwing the covers off.

Okay. This cemented Stiles’s belief that werewolves did not give a fuck about nudity. Certainly Jackson and Scott didn’t give a shit. And if Derek could be naked in front of his sister- could have Stiles naked in front of his sister-

Stiles looked up at Laura, realizing what she had said. She was dressed in battle gear- armor around her flank, steel claws over her hands. She glanced at him and he lowered his eyes, looking over at Derek.

The wolf was throwing on his clothes. “How?” Derek snarled, and Laura sighed. Stiles sat up gingerly, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

“Through the kitchen tunnels,” she told him. “That’s as far as we could track their scent- they mingled with the human slaves, masking a lot of it. They left wolfsbane in the dungeons- couldn’t get a scent there. We’re lucky someone who knew them caught wind of them in the kitchens- a slave by the name of Scott McCall.”

Stiles paled. Were they looking at Scott as a suspect? Or think Scott helped the Argents? He clamped down on his panic, trying to figure out likely scenarios and how to get Scott to escape before he was placed on the block-

Derek huffed. “I know the kid. Enamored with the Argent girl, but he’s a good slave,” Derek vouched, and Stiles’s felt the weight of the earth lift from his shoulders. Bless Derek. Gods bless him.

“I need you to gather your soldiers and form a hunting party for them,” Laura commanded. “Don’t go beyond our borders, and be careful. We can’t consider them as a party of three or unarmed.”

“I understand,” Derek replied, reaching for his own armor. “Stiles,” he called out, and Laura seemed surprised that Stiles was still there.

“Yes, sir?” Stiles asked, not daring to assume they were equals in front of Alpha Hale. Derek didn’t seem to notice, handing the armor to him.

“Help me with my armor,” Derek commanded. Stiles swallowed. Of course. Derek’s personal slave would still be sleeping, still on Sambra rest. The temporary slave stood, not bothering to cover up his own nakedness as he took the chest plate from Derek. He slid the wolf’s arms through the slots and tied it tight. Derek nodded his approval, and Stiles exhaled. Good. He wasn’t totally useless.

“You’ve forgotten your boots, brother,” Laura commented dryly. “Gather your soldiers. I’ll meet you at the stables.” She spun on her heel, calling out Peter’s name. All but one of the guards went with her.

Derek looked helplessly at his boots, a sheepish gaze meeting Stiles’s own. The human sighed and quickly moved to put them on Derek’s feet, knowing Derek wouldn’t have been mobile enough for that with his armor on. Besides, it was more important that Derek get as much time as possible for chasing the Argents.

“I’m sorry,” Derek offered to Stiles as Stiles slid the first boot on, checking to make sure it wasn’t too tight or on the wrong foot. “This wasn’t how I planned to wake up this morning.”

Stiles merely sent him a reassuring smile, hoping Derek wouldn’t smell the guilt coming off of him. “It’s alright.” He lifted up the other boot, gently guiding Derek’s foot into the hole. “Not the worst way I’ve woken up before.”

“It may be weeks before I return,” Derek added.

“Okay.” Stiles didn’t meet his gaze, and he wasn’t sure if he was talking about the boots or the statement. Neither of them felt okay, really.

Suddenly Derek’s hand was on his chin, pulling him upwards. Stiles followed, still not wanting to meet Derek’s eyes. But there was something serious in that green gaze, something that Stiles could recognize from deep, dark experiences, and Stiles met it equally, listening to what the lord had to say.

“If I don’t come back, I want you to know I didn’t plan for this to be a one time thing,” Derek said lowly, the words meant for only Stiles to hear. There was a vulnerability in the voice, both of them knowing how important it was that Derek couldn’t regret losing the chance to admit such a thing.

“I know,” the slave admitted, his heart clenching. He did know. He knew Derek’s character, the rumors around him- Derek wasn’t one to take someone to bed lightly. The lord looked surprised at Stiles’s words, but Stiles deflected the emotions with a joke. “Not really subtle,” he remarked, pointing to his wrist.

Derek let out a grin at the reference, standing. Stiles moved in and placed a quick, chaste kiss on Derek’s lips.

“Be safe,” Stiles whispered against his lips, picturing arrows and mountain ash and wolfsbane headed at Derek. The wolf’s eyes were big and round, another surprise.

Stiles was _not_ surprised when Derek kissed him back. Derek had been reading his mind the entire night before, so Derek doing what his heart was pleading him to do didn’t phase Stiles in the slightest.

The kiss was quick and efficient. When they parted Derek turned to the guard waiting by his door and nodded, marching out. The guard followed him wordlessly, probably going to gather the rest of the soldiers. Stiles swallowed, looking over at the now-empty room.

The glasses were still on the table, the clothes from the previous night still in the bathroom, and the bed was still rumpled from this morning. When the slaves came later today, there wouldn’t be a trace of Stiles left in this room.

He let a hand touch the bedcover, rolling the previous night around and around in his mind.

“Come home safely,” he pleaded, his voice sounding small and suffocated with regret.


	3. Chapter 3

Laura sent a guard to escort Stiles back to the slave quarters so he would not be needlessly suspected. The guard was jovial, smiling widely without any hint of malice, patiently waiting for Stiles to grab his things before leading him back. Given the guard’s upbeat attitude, Stiles suspected he was thankful someone had actually slept with Derek.

Surprisingly, the guard didn’t speak of it. Instead, he started babbling on about Scott. “You’re friends with Scott, right?” The guard asked him as they hurriedly took the quickest way to the slave hall. “He’s a great wolf. I swear he’s got all of the wolf-slaves following him. And he even picked up a scent that Laura couldn’t get!”

Stiles shrugged, noting how the guard didn’t seem suspicious of that at all. Stiles felt sick; Scott might be killed in Stiles’s stead. Stiles replayed Derek’s words in his mind, trying to draw comfort from them. The guard fell silent for a while, checking in with other guards, explaining where they were going, and finally they were allowed to pass through the great hall.

“Ah,” the guard murmured as they walked through the sickeningly empty slave hall, “I should tell you your orders. Right now the slaves are being quarantined. They’re being searched and questioned as we’re trying to figure this out.” The guard continued to Stiles’s wing, finding the door to the room and swung it open.

Stiles peeked in. Two head guards were patting down slaves while one looked through things. Nobody was spared. Jackson looked pale and uncomfortable, Greenberg looked frightened, and Danny looked annoyed. Scott looked relieved as Stiles and the guard stood behind the door and came into view.

“Ah, right on time. Boyd?” Stiles’s guard waved at the bigger guard, who looked up from the bag he was searching.

“Isaac,” the male guard acknowledged curtly before turning to Stiles. “You. Where were you last night?”

“Gods, you can _smell_ where he was,” the blonde woman shouted from deep inside the room. Stiles blushed. He hadn’t thought the smell _that_ noticeable. “Thank the _gods_ he’s gotten laid, finally, maybe he won’t be such a hardass!”

Stiles frowned as he tried to figure out if he knew this woman and why she thought he was a hardass. Then it dawned on Stiles she wasn’t talking about him at all. She was talking about _Derek_. The feeling was not unpleasant. “I was with Derek last night, sir,” Stiles answered, knowing Boyd could smell it but wanting to display his cooperation regardless. Boyd scared him, big and tough and in charge. Stiles didn’t want to challenge him in any way.

“It’s true. Alpha had me escort this one back,” Isaac added. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’m on the search team, and I’ve got to get down to the stables as soon as possible.”

“Go,” Boyd told the guard before turning to Stiles. “You, we’ve already looked through your things. Go sit on your bed and wait for us to search the rest.” Isaac winked Stiles a goodbye.

Stiles tiptoed past the angry woman, climbing up onto his tussled bed. Jackson watched him warily, helping him up for the first time ever. Probably a good thing, for the lady turned on Jackson next.

“What’s up with the wineskin?” she asked. Boyd shot her a warning glance, and Scott winced as Jackson tightened his lips. The woman opened it up, smelling. “This is fresh.” Her eyes flashed angrily as she reached up and grabbed Jackson’s throat.

“Erica,” Boyd commanded. “He’s the wine-tester.” At Erica’s blank glance he sighed. “You remember when he challenged Laura?”

Jackson remained still, almost too still. Danny was eyeing Erica warily like he wanted to step in though he couldn’t without any punishment. Stiles understood the feeling. And if Stiles felt it, Scott was probably going crazy. A quick glance to Scott confirmed it. Stiles prayed Scott would remain still while Erica came down from whatever power trip she was on.

Erica seemed giddy at the revelation of Jackson’s past. “I remember that,” she said lowly, antagonizing the other man. “You called us all _monsters_ , didn’t you? And now you’re one of us, making sure our wine is poison-free-“

That forced Scott’s hand. “Stop it,” the slave commanded. He caught Erica’s hand in his grip, forcing her to release Jackson’s neck. “This has nothing to do with your search.” He met Erica’s eyes, challenging her. “If you have a problem with his punishment, take it up with the Alpha.”

Danny rushed to Jackson’s side, helping the coughing man back onto his bed. Stiles focused on Scott. This wasn’t a time to be challenging the guards. Erica’s face grew into that weird forehead prominent wolf-form as she roared at Scott.

Scott roared back, standing his ground. It even stunned the guards. Not one of them moved to interfere but one did move to shut the door, trapping everyone inside.

Erica snarled, her hand going for Scott’s throat this time. “You’re the bastard that was in love with the Argent bitch!” She threw him at the door. “Your key’s missing! How stupid do you think we are?” It splintered as Scott flew through it, landing on his back with splinters flying in all directions.  

The male wolf groaned, his hands grabbing at a splinter. Calmly, he pulled on a large piece of lumber caught in his knee. Flesh and blood spurted, caught on the jagged wood, but Scott only winced, not letting out a sound. Stiles’s stomach twisted as he watched, but he couldn’t look away.

Jackson roared underneath him, a warning at the guards.

Danny fled up to Stiles’s bunk. Neither wanted to get involved in the fight. Greenberg, the only other human, whimpered in his bed by the door- a guard stood between him and the wolves. He was probably safer than Danny and Stiles at the moment.

Scott stood. “I know you’re scared,” Scott said to Erica, glaring at Jackson to stand down. He walked forward, limping a little. “And hung over. We all are.” Several guards appeared behind the doorway, waiting. Erica huffed. “I don’t know who did it,” Scott continued slowly, letting Erica hear the truth in his voice. “But I do know that we’re in danger now. The Argents will kill us. The war will go on longer. I’m just as scared as you are, but I’m not picking on someone weaker to make myself feel better.”

Erica seemed to calm at that, Stiles noted, her face looking human again. “Erica, stand down,” Boyd commanded. Erica slumped into a heap. Another guard contemplated the two of them, sizing up the situation. “Boyd. Escort McCall down to the Alpha,” he commanded.

Stiles went numb. No. No. Stiles moved forward. Danny grabbed his wrist, holding him back. “Don’t be an idiot,” Danny told Stiles.

Stiles’s best friend looked up at the two humans on the bunk, shooting Stiles a smile. “It’ll be okay,” Scott assured him while the guards grabbed his best friend’s shoulder and forced the man away.

Stiles felt like puking. His insides were squirming, churning, rioting. He clutched onto Danny’s shirt, hoping to keep the panic back. Danny wrapped his arms around Stiles soothingly, though somewhat awkwardly. “I’m sure they’re not going to punish him,” Danny told him, and Erica gasped from the floor beneath them. “Earlier they asked Scott to help track the Argents- he told them no. They’re probably not giving him a choice now.”

Stiles nodded. That made sense. Right, Scott was the one who smelled Allison to begin with. So it made sense they’d want someone like that with them. And Derek- Derek was leading the search team. He’d keep Scott safe.

Stiles looked back on the floor, where Boyd grilled Erica. “Since you’ve broken the door, Guard Reyes,” Boyd told her, “You can stay here until it is replaced.”

Erica looked up. “But that could take days-“ She fell silent under Boyd’s stoic gaze. “Yes, sir,” she complied.

She looked about as miserable as Stiles felt. Danny let him go, noting Stiles no longer sought support. Boyd turned to the room as he exited. “Listen up,” he commanded, and the slaves all warily listened to him. “You have been found clean. Since you are now lacking a door, for your safety a guard will be in the room at all times. You are not to leave this room without a guard, you are not to go wandering in the hall-“ Boyd shot Stiles a look. “Is anyone here two years from release?”

Danny’s hand shot up. “One and a half, sir,” he shouted from Stiles’s bed.

Boyd nodded. “I’ll make a note of it. You’ll be in charge of bringing your room provisions and the like,” Boyd informed him. His eyes glanced over at Greenberg, hand also raised, but Boyd pointedly ignored him.

“All right, then,” Boyd told them. “We expect things will return to normal in a couple of days. That is all.”

The guard spun on his heel and walked out. Stiles looked over the remains of the door, of Erica on the ground, and the slaves surrounding her with Jackson behind. She looked so overwhelmed right now. Everyone was overwhelmed.

Stiles slid down off his bunk, grabbed Jackson’s wineskin and sat next to Erica. “Ever played kings?” he asked, and one of the wolves scrambled to find a deck of cards.

 

***

 

“Okay,” Stiles remarked, sending Greenberg out to ask another guard for company so he could fetch more wine. It had to be the only perk of Jackson’s job- a limitless supply of booze. “It’s a three for me, so the rule is I have to ask somebody a question?”

“Someone asks _you_ a question,” Jackson countered, rolling his eyes. “And you have to answer it.”

Erica raised her hand quickly, swinging it around like a five year old in class. One of the wolves looked incredulously at her, but he wasn’t about to stop a guard from doing what she wanted. “I have a question!” She sang.

“Go.” Stiles debated drinking early, but opted on keeping what was left of the wine in his cup. This game had been the best idea ever. Their lockdown felt more like a vacation, even when Erica had to get up twenty times to escort them all separately to the bathroom.

“How big is it?” she asked, eyes wide and curious. Stiles blinked a couple of times as he tried to figure out what she meant. Her face fell at his puzzled expression.

“His dick,” Erica said helpfully, emphasizing the ‘k’. “How big?”

The human sputtered, aware that everyone was now looking at him curiously, wanting to know the answer. “Um… big?” he offered, hoping it would placate them.

“No way,” Erica replied, shaking her head. “Not detailed enough for an answer. Boyd said it was as big as my forearm.” She held it out to show the other guys. Most of the wolves looked impressed, save for Danny.

“Clearly not that big,” Danny offered, “if Stiles is still _walking_ this morning.”

Stiles flushed. “Well…. We didn’t exactly do _that_ part,” he admitted, his hands going to his neck, tracing where Derek had marked him. “But, uh, we did a lot of other things. And, uh, it was too much to…” He trailed off, eight sets of unblinking eyes at him. Relenting, Stiles held up his hands a distance from each other and Erica whistled.

“You’ll get to it,” she assured him as he drank. Stiles flipped her off and set the glass down.

“Your turn, Jackson,” Stiles told the wolf, and Jackson huffed, flipping over a card as if the action was beneath him.

“Two. Stilinski, I choose you.”

Stiles balked. “Why me?”

“You’re the only one with wine still in your cup,” Jackson replied coldly. Sound logic, even if Stiles didn’t’ like it.

Stiles grumbled but he picked the cup up, looking over his glass at Jackson. Erica was waving her arms about all the different suggestions she had. Jackson kept his eyes on Stiles, expression challenging. Something sobering hid behind the expression, and Stiles waited, expecting anything.

“Where’s Lydia now?” Jackson asked.

Erica’s arms stopped moving, clearly hearing the weight of the question in the room. In fact, nobody moved except Danny, who reached over to squeeze Jackson’s hand. Stiles took his drink early before he answered.

“After Kate poisoned my dad,” Stiles began, and Jackson nodded, knowing the timeframe. The day she had poisoned the sheriff was the day she had taken over Beacon Hills. “Lydia’s family split- her Dad wanted to support the Argents. Her mom didn’t. They forced her to choose, and now she’s living somewhere in Hale land. I think they went somewhere by the ocean. They had permission to travel in the land. She’s probably a mayor or duchess by now.”

Danny mouthed a thank-you, and Erica shuffled uncomfortably. Jackson remained deep in thought, his eyes sad and far away. Stiles emptied his cup.

Luckily Greenberg came back, carrying four wineskins. “The wine keeper says these are all he’ll allow,” Greenberg told them. “He’s sick of seeing my face.”

“That’s plenty,” Erica assured. “Any more and we’ll start hallucinating.” She took one of the skins and filled up the rest of the cups, the slaves chattering, pleased. Stiles thanked her as she filled his cup.

“Also I think I have a new job,” Greenberg added meekly, sitting down.

Erica looked over at him, her hand on a card. “Oh? What happened?”

Stiles had a good idea as he passed a wineskin back to Jackson. Greenberg hiccupped. “I… uh, I guess I made Peter angry today,” Greenberg said quietly.

“Good,” Stiles said quickly. “I’ll drink to that.” He knocked Greenberg’s glass against his own, drinking heartily. “Peter’s a creeeep. With a capital ‘C’.”

Erica clanked their glasses together in agreement.

“Who do you work for now?” Stiles asked, ready to toast him again.

“Finstock,” Greenberg said quietly, looking at the red liquid. One of the wolves gave an approving growl. “That’s the one you’re crushing on, right?” the wolf asked Greenberg, and Greenberg put his head in his hands. Clearly this was not the best thing to happen.

Stiles looked over at Danny for an explanation. “Finstock’s team does all the manual labor around the castle. Usually you end up with him to shape up or they sell you somewhere else.”

Erica wrapped her arms around Greenberg’s shoulder. “Peter’s a jackass,” she mentioned. “Nobody likes him. Laura’s probably moving you there for a couple of weeks just to pacify him and then you’ll go right back to serving him drinks.” Greenberg smiled but he still seemed bummed out.

Stiles could understand. The thought of leaving now pained him like it hadn’t before. Stiles looked at the lack of door, wishing they knew where Scott had been taken.

 

***

 

Scott didn’t return the next day or the day after. Danny came back three days later with information along with their rations: Scott had been forced to join the search party. He’d be with Derek.

Stiles’s guilt intensified. If things went sour, he wouldn’t lose just Derek. He’d lose his best friend as well.

It took Stiles two hours to come down from his panic attack.

Danny and Jackson didn’t leave his side, Danny whispering things like, “I understand, Ethan’s gone too,” and Jackson telling him “You’re not that much of a fuck-up, Stilinski,” which much more helpful than Stiles expected it to be.

After a week of shut down, the slaves were finally allowed to return to their old jobs, though their door had yet to be fixed. At night he no longer had the will to explore, the key and letter tucked safely into his mattress. He just lay in bed and waited for the black hole of guilt to swallow him, before he’d cry to sleep.

Then the nightmares would come.

He was always back on the hill at home, looking back at the forest. It seemed so unfriendly and uninviting, but his father screamed so loud he had to run into the abyss to save him. Stiles ran to his home, but the woods ate him up, finally leaving him at a stump where Derek or Scott would lay, dead.

Sometimes blood would pour out of their fingernails, but they were always dead.

Stiles always woke up screaming.

 

***

 

After two weeks of waking to Stiles’s screaming, Erica dragged him to see Deaton. Stiles would have preferred having a door to the room, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“What seems to be the problem?” Deaton asked, raising his eyebrows as the two came in. He closed the large book he’d been reading.

“He keeps screaming at night,” Erica growled, pointing her thumb at Stiles. “I can’t sleep.” She shot the slave a dirty glare.

Stiles returned it. “Neither can I,” he muttered. “I’d like to sleep if I could.” Erica shoved him playfully.

“Thank you, Guard Reyes,” Deaton dismissed. “I’d like to talk to Stiles alone, if I could.” He walked around the edge of his desk, eyeing the slave.

Erica glanced over at Stiles but shrugged. “Keep him overnight,” she pleaded before she stepped away. Stiles waved goodbye as sarcastically as he could, maybe slipping her the finger. Erica laughed at him and waved goodbye herself, slipping out the door.

Stiles turned to the healer. “So, nightmares.” He held up his hands in a shrug.

“Strong enough you can’t sleep?” Deaton began, humming to himself as he motioned for Stiles to follow him into one of the rooms. It felt a lot like deja vu, but with more herbs in this room than the last. This wasn’t an examination room.

“Yeah.” Stiles followed, eyes darting around at all the jars on the shelf. Most of them were the same herb. s

“Well, normally, nightmares are caused by very intense emotions,” Deaton began, looking over the jars. “Feeling helpless, powerless, out of control. Something not going right in your life?”

Stiles scoffed. “I’m a slave.”

“Point taken." Deaton didn’t seem perturbed by this. They stood in silence for a while before Deaton asked, “Have you panicked lately?”

Stiles bit his lip. “Yeah,” he murmured honestly. He’d been trying to hide them, pretending he was sleeping or taking his time in the bathroom. “Please don’t send me away.”

Deaton smiled reassuringly, gathering some of the dried herbs on the shelf. “I think Derek would be very upset with me if I did that,” Deaton told him. “Given how fond he is of you.”

Stiles smiled at that, remembering how kind Derek was their night together. “I… I keep dreaming that he’s dead,” he admitted softly. “It scares me.”

Deaton smiled in an understanding way, though the smile was pained and familiar. “Though some things come true in dreams,” Deaton began, “I think yours are just anxiety.” He pulled out the herbs and placed them in a mortar, mushing them together with a pistol. “Derek has survived worse. He will come back.”

Though the words offered some comfort, Stiles still bit his lip. “He’s not injured, though, is he? Like, he’d have to run back himself?”

Deaton shook his head. “They send injured men back on the horses,” Deaton explained. “Usually it’s faster travel without the animals, or they’re used for human soldiers to keep up with the wolves.” He patted Stiles on the shoulders. “Derek took all the horses he could, one for each man. He’s planned for the worst.”

Deaton motioned for Stiles to take over the crushing. Stiles took up the pistol, trying to match the movements as best he could. It was helpful, Deaton’s talking. Already he felt relieved.

A thought occurred to him, since he was here. “Hey, uh, can I ask you a question? Like, a personal question?” Deaton raised his eyebrows. “About Derek?” Stiles added, and the eyebrows went down.

Deaton turned back to his herb collection. “You might find _Derek_ has all the answers you need for those questions,” he stated plainly.

“Uh, see, that’s the problem. There wasn’t really much, uh, talking, on Sambra.” Stiles blushed as he focused his attention on a very stubborn herb.

Deaton smiled. “A very common problem,” he remarked casually. “But it probably helped Derek overcome his other problems. He’s normally very reserved in such matters.”

“Peter might have helped that,” Stiles mumbled.

“It’s possible,” Deaton replied in a way that implied Stiles was completely correct.

The information was nothing new. He’d figured as much on Sambra, anyway. Stiles didn’t regret it, not one bit. He still had some of the bruises, little reminders that his fingertips brushed over at night to remember Derek’s mouth on his skin.

“Ok,” Stiles decided, “I’m going to talk with him next time. Maybe ask him something stupid, like how his day was, or … what he did as a kid.” He nodded his conviction.

Deaton leaned over, judging that the herbs were powdered enough to be placed in a potion. “A wise choice, Mr. Stilinski,” he mused. “Now, about replacing my herbs…”

 

***

 

Stiles slept soundly the next night.

Erica patted him on the back the next morning, an honest look of relief on her face. Stiles smiled back at her, sharing a moment of tenderness and honesty.

Then Boyd showed up with the door and Erica hollered for joy that she would finally be rid of all these losers and waved them goodbye by flipping them off.

It felt a little emptier without her there.

 

***

 

Stiles sat on the top of the hill, gathering herbs, remembering Derek as a five-headed deer monster. He wondered for a moment if he’d see Derek from here, see them marching back, but shook his head at the idea.

Until he saw the horse on the cobblestone path from the town.

Stiles cried out a warning, but the guards had already been notified. Guards were running alongside the horse, one darting forward to take the reins. Stiles ran towards the front of the center, trying to see who it was, but all he got was a tuft of black hair and a flash of golden eyes as the guards at the front helped the wolf in. His human legs weren’t fast enough.

Stiles’s stomach churned. Derek had blue eyes, so it wasn’t him.

But Scott did.

Oh gods, what if Scott was the only survivor? What if all of his selfish actions had…

Stiles quickly searched for the vial of calming liquid he had and slammed it down his throat. It helped, the herbs relaxing him, though relaxing really meant just calm enough to not have a panic attack.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles planned what to do next. He still had herbs to gather for Deaton- just a couple more pouches to fill in the cold snow. Then he could deliver them to Deaton, who was probably treating the wolf. Stiles nodded to himself. It was a great plan.

Stiles moved back to the herbs, pulling them quickly, snapping them off at the stems. Right. The wolf probably wasn’t even Scott. It was maybe someone who’d been injured falling off their horse, or something dumb like that.

Stiles filled a pouch quicker than he’d ever filled one in his life.

He turned his eyes back to the entrance, revisiting the scene. It had looked so much like Scott.

Stiles filled the second pouch even quicker than the first. He couldn’t feel his fingertips anymore. _Two pouches were enough, right?_ he thought to himself. He wished he hadn’t left the rest of the calming potion in the room- though his fingers were numb, they were also shaking.

“Stiles!” Stiles caught the voice on the wind, turning his gaze to where Erica ran in his direction. He sprung from his spot to meet her, understanding when she turned around and bolted through the main door.

His heart sunk. It _had_ been Scott after all.

Erica raced along, howling at others to get out of the way. Stiles had no trouble keeping up despite his lack of super-natural abilities. Erica lead him to the healing room and Stiles stumbled in, holding up the medicine pouches in offering.

Deaton didn’t great him. Instead, Peter Hale stood in the office, facing a curtain. Stiles’s skin crawled. Though Peter wasn’t facing him, Peter was probably waiting for him.

Stiles dropped his head, instantly, though his eyes were searching for Scott. He must have been in the back room. Peter glanced at him. “Ah, _Stiles_ ,” he commented smoothly, and Stiles repressed the shudder that Peter knew his name. “Scott’s been calling for you ever since he arrived.”

Stiles paled as guilt racked through him. This was all his fault. “But Deaton has knocked him out, now, as they administer the cure. No doubt those herbs you have will help,” Peter continued. “So until the meantime, we can do the most exciting thing there is to do in a healer’s room. We wait.”

Stiles kept quiet. Erica bowed and left, knowing not to overstay her welcome. “Tell me,” Peter purred, “Why do you seem so sad? Is it the loss of your friend?”

Stiles glowered as he touched the pouch. “And the loss of a unit, if Scott is the only survivor.” The words were true, and loyal to the Hale Pack. Peter wouldn’t be able find fault with them.

It didn’t keep Peter from mulling them over in his head. “Saddened by the loss of my nephew, perhaps? Now the one you’ve _sucked_ up to might be dead, and your chance to sleep on silk sheets at night is all for naught?” T he older Hale didn’t even pause after the innuendo.

Stiles’s vision went red, but the earlier calming potion helped him keep his cool. “First off,” Stiles responded, “ _He_ did all the sucking, thank you very much.” Peter’s jaw snapped shut, eyes bugging out of his head. Stiles continued in the same manner Peter had. “Secondly, we both know Derek doesn’t keep silk sheets in his bedroom. That’s not Spartan enough for his tastes.”

Peter chuckled at that, his eyes flashing curiously over Stiles. “True enough,” he murmured. Stiles knew he shouldn’t push his luck. He was lucky his mouth had caught Peter’s curiosity more than his anger.

“Stiles.” The groan came from behind the curtain and Stiles didn’t even wait to be dismissed. He pulled back the curtain to find Scott’s bed in the middle of a sea of beds. Scott’s face twisted over at him, coughing. Stiles winced as he ran over, grabbing Scott’s hand, assuring Scott he didn’t need to strain himself anymore.

“You’ll be fine, Mr. McCall,” Deaton spoke. “It’ll take a couple of days for you to fully recover, but the wolfsbane has been neutralized.”

Scott coughed again, but managed to utter a, “Thanks, doc,” before turning back to Stiles. Deaton walked away, back to his desk outside.

Stiles’s vision blurred. “You’re okay,” Stiles uttered. “You’re gonna be fine.”

Scott smiled at Stiles. “Yeah, I think he just said that,” Scott quipped.

Stiles laughed through his snot-filled nose. “You jerk. Scaring me like that.” Scott coughed through his own laughter but Stiles frowned. “What’s wrong? You haven’t coughed like that since…”

“Before I was bitten,” Scott finished for him. “Wolfsbane. In the air. Victoria set the trap for me.” Scott inhaled, shakily, as he remembered. “Derek’s the one who found me- I was scouting them. She was waiting, wanting to watch me die. She remembered me from the prison. She was gloating, talking about being let out of the cell.”

Stiles’s heart stopped in his chest. Oh no. Scott probably already knew. Peter was listening outside the curtain.

“But before she could say anything,” Scott continued. Blissful relief washed through Stiles, feeling a lot like a warm piss in the pants on a snowy afternoon: warm, relaxing, but ultimately icky. “Derek came and ripped her throat out, dragging me to safety.”

Scott closed his eyes, his breath tired. “I kept shaking, couldn’t get enough air. Like before. Derek had me take a horse back to the dome, we were close enough it’d be no more than a couple day’s ride. I had riders all up until this final stretch, so I wasn’t abandoned or anything,” he added, seeing Stiles’s worried face.

Stiles took it in, offering Scott a reassuring smile. “An Derek is okay, too,” Scott admitted, and Stiles broke out into a big smile, squeezing Scott’s hand. Scott was a great friend.

“He was really jealous of me at first,” Scott started. “Man, he thought you and I were in a relationship or something. Kept sniffing me, glaring at me until I called him out on it. And he asked about you whenever we were alone. Not about Allison’s scent or anything, just about you. What you liked. What you did.”

Stiles smiled. “Sounds familiar.”

Scott laughed. “You too are perfect for each other,” he murmured in a joking way. Stiles still beamed at the thought of Derek asking about him. He wondered what the lord was doing with the scouts now. He offered up a prayer of thanks for Scott and Derek and squeezed Scott’s hand.

Stiles spoke lowly. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come back, Scott. You’re my brother, man.”

Scott took a deep breath, his voice sleepy. “’s why I came back,” he murmured before falling into a soft sleep.

Stiles squeezed his hand, suddenly aware of Peter standing across from him, on the other side of Scott’s sleeping body. “Shame,” Peter murmured, “That my nephew should kill that woman before she gave any identifying information.”

“But he’s safe,” Stiles uttered, trying not to wince at the words. He couldn’t give anything away. Peter was clever, twisted and observant. Peter might already suspect him.

“That he is,” Peter hummed approvingly, sitting down. “You two are from Beacon Hills?” It seemed more like a statement than a question.

Stiles felt his hackles rise. Peter was asking for something, searching for something. “Yes,” Stiles told him. “Scott was bit by a rogue Alpha several years ago.”

Peter hummed again. “How did he leave?”

Stiles openly glared at him, but couldn’t find a reason to not answer. “When Kate… when the Argents took over, most of the werewolves in our town fled.”

Peter nodded. “Self-preservation. No packs in your town, either. How… _unfortunate_ that he should end up as a slave here.”

Stiles caught the inflection on the word; Peter did not mean unfortunate. Peter suspected _Scott_. “And how unfortunate that he happened to be _alone_ when Victoria came after him.”

Stiles nearly snarled at the lord. “Scott had _nothing_ to do with the Argents escaping,” he hissed, draping his body over his friend’s slumbering form protectively.

Peter watched him, eyes shining, analyzing. Stiles fought the urge to say anything, aware he’d already stood up to a lord today. He wasn’t sure how much he could get away with before Derek’s favor ran out.

A single claw touched the underside of his chin, enough to force Stiles’s head upwards so Stiles looked directly into Peter’s eyes. The older man held his gaze, eyes searching Stiles’s soul. “What a fine wolf you’d make,” he murmured. “So protective of your pack _without_ instinct to drive you.”

Stiles knew what Peter offered. But he also knew Peter didn’t have the power to back it up so Stiles said nothing, not wanting to agitate the man with a claw in his chin. Peter gazed at him again, his grin widening to something almost too sharp. “You and the boy… are interesting,” he uttered. “I see why Derek was drawn to you.”

Stiles did not offer his comment of “winning personality”, though it stayed in the back of his mind. Peter hummed again. “An Omega, looking to find his own home. Much like this one here.” Peter tapped the bed.

Stiles mind started spinning. But weren’t the wolves of the Hale land all part of the pack? That’s what kept the slaves from forming their own pack and run. Hell, there were enough slaves to match the strength of the guards based on pack alone. But maybe the Pack didn’t tell the slaves that- just enough to think they were in the pack, without actually being in the pack. Enough so that they were kept weak.

Stiles looked up at Peter. “So they’re not pack,” Stiles whispered, and Peter grinned as if glad he didn’t have to explain.

“Not quite. They’re all part of Derek’s pack,” Peter explained. “Derek takes care of them, they’re loyal to him. Save for this one.”

Stiles blanched, understanding the danger that put Scott in. Still Peter’s claw pushed his head up, forcing him to expose his neck. Stiles felt vulnerable, afraid.

Still he kept his body over Scott’s, willing himself to defend his friend despite his fear. Peter pressed harder, upward still. Stiles’s didn’t move, not even when he felt something like fire prick his chin. Not to be forced away, he slowly lowered his head onto the claw, trying to ignore the increasing pain.

There were three breaths before either man moved.

Admitting defeat, Peter lowered his claw. Stiles inhaled shallowly and quickly, trying not to think of the pain. Peter looked at his claw, red and covered with blood, his pupils blown and glanced back at Stiles’s chin. Stiles saw his own blood over Peter’s finger. _That was a lot_ , he thought, understanding why he felt something drip from his chin. Peter held Stiles’s gaze as he brought the bloodied claw to his lips, licking it clean.

The human kept steady, praying the wolf wouldn’t notice the shaking in his arms. Peter patted Scott’s arm in mock gentleness. Turning towards the exit, Peter called out. “Deaton, you should help our little slave there. He’s bleeding quite badly, you know.”

Stiles reached up to hold the wound closed, the blood slick and sticky between his fingers.

 

***

 

Unsurprisingly, Stiles was on herb duty the next week, though Deaton told him to do it between his normal duties. Surprisingly, he was given a bag of mountain ash to carry with him in case of emergencies. He also had a lot more of the relaxing potion to drink at night. In short (and unsurprisingly), Deaton was the best.

Scott was still recovering but wanted to help, so he spent his time helping Deaton sort the herbs that Stiles brought back. He hadn’t seen Peter since their previous encounter, so all was right with the world. Stiles sighed as he continued pulling herbs. It was a warm day today, and most of the snow had melted. But that meant planting would be soon, and many of the fighters had to become farmers for the next month’s crop. Any great battles would have to be done quickly, or-

Something in the woods moved close by, crackling and rustling leaves. Stiles stopped moving as he tried to see what it was. A deer, maybe? Stiles narrowed his eyes, able to make out a set of antlers.

And something black and furry, something hunched over the deer.

A werewolf, perhaps feral. Stiles reached for the mountain ash in his pocket, going on the defensive. The wolf raised his head at the sudden noise, when another flash caught Stiles’s eye. This time he was too late, pinned beneath the surprise new wolf.

Stiles struggled, trying to escape the grip, but the wolf pinned him down, laughing.

“We’re back!” the wolf chirped. Stiles kept struggling, the gears in his mind spinning to figure out who owned the familiar voice. “Derek, look who I found!” the voice called out, and Stiles looked back at the werewolf, who dragged a deer over to him- naked. The man was naked. Naked was the man.

It was a good look.

Stiles pinched himself to try and focus. As his eyes stayed on the man’s lower appendage, Stiles allowed himself a grin. That was _definitely_ Derek.

“Isaac, take my armor back,” Derek commented through fangs, and Isaac ran, probably to get the armor.

“He’s happy,” Stiles commented dryly, sitting up. The human couldn’t escape the grin on his face as he looked up at Derek. And he looked up while avoiding staring at Derek’s crotch, despite how close it was to his face. Stiles deserved a medal.

Derek crouched down, transforming back into his human shape. “What happened?” he asked lowly, his nose sniffing. “You smell like… blood. And mountain ash,” he commented. “Like Deaton’s.”

Stiles lurched forward and wrapped his arms around the wolf, not caring that Derek was still covered in deer blood. “You’re safe,” Stiles uttered in his ear, his arms going numb as he gripped Derek with all his might.

Derek seemed surprised at the revelation, but he quickly returned the squeeze, nuzzling Stiles’s neck. “I am,” he assured Stiles. They held each other for a little longer, Stiles trying to make sure Derek wouldn’t see his watery eyes before they pulled apart. “Scott?” Derek asked, trying to change the subject.

Stiles let him go, sitting back. “He’s okay. He got here in time. I’ve been helping him heal up,” Stiles reported. “Deaton might ask for him to transfer, he’s really good at telling which herbs are still fresh.”

Derek nodded, his eyes still investigating Stiles’s chin. He met Stiles’s eyes, demanding explanation. 

Stiles bit his lip before answering, his fingers touching the pelt of the deer. Still warm. “Uh, while Scott was in the infirmary, I, uh, got into a fight with Peter,” Stiles admitted. “I think I won. But nobody really knows with that guy-“

Derek forced the human’s head back, growling as he saw the mark.

“He clawed you.” Derek didn’t look too happy about that. “In Deaton’s office.”

“He did,” Stiles answered, placing his hand over Derek’s, dropping his head back down. “But I’m okay. And now I’ve got a bag of mountain ash, in case any of the other wolf tries to attack me.” He held out the bag for Derek to see. “Now I’m a badass or something. Kinda like a mage.”

Derek scoffed but he looked a little more relieved. He even let the badass comment slide and slipped over to sit next to the human, leaving the deer next to Stiles’s right. Stiles quietly grabbed his hand, and Derek squeezed it in return. “I’m glad Scott came back to you,” Derek said. Stiles felt his heart squeeze. Derek _understood_. He knew what it was like to lose family.

“I’m glad you came back,” Stiles uttered softly, almost too soft for his own ears, but he knew Derek would hear. “And you killed a deer. Very manly.” The blank gaze of the deer looked into his eyes. Stiles looked away. A little too much gore for him.

“Was hungry,” Derek grunted. “Needed to eat before I see Laura. She’ll want to have a war-meeting soon.”

So the remaining Argents had escaped, if she didn’t want a party. Derek squeezed his hand again, bringing it to his bloodied lips. Stiles couldn’t look away from the sight. Just minutes before Derek brought down a deer with that mouth and now he looked so tenderly at Stiles’s hand. He shivered with anticipation as he remembered how it felt to be underneath that mouth, to be marked and sucked and-

Derek’s nostrils flared and the wolf grinned widely. Stiles groaned. “Of course you can smell me embarrassing myself. Of course.”

Derek pressed a kiss against his hand. “I’m glad you are safe. Now, I should get bring this deer back to the kitchens before Laura summons me.” The wolf stood, still buck-ass nude, and Stiles watched him go as he returned to the kitchen.

Or more specifically, Stiles watched his ass as he returned to the kitchen. It was a great ass. Nothing had changed that. And it came home, in one piece, just like its master. Stiles felt warm inside, like everything would be okay.

 

***

 

With all war-councils came a meeting, and with all meetings was Stiles, working the pitchers in the back. Greenberg’s prediction had been correct; he was gone, leaving Harris completely in charge. Harris was a vile man, keeping grudges and attempting to belittle Stiles whenever he could.

Stiles kept filling pitchers as he was told, and nobody complained about his work. For a while. Then Harris grabbed him by the shoulder, roughly dragging him up and away from the kegs. “You,” Harris hissed. “You special little whore,” he began, and Stiles fought the urge to punch him, focusing on empty pitchers that lay on the ground. Not even Laura could save him from the punishment that came from beating his supervisor. “I don’t know what you’ve done, but the Alpha is calling for you.” His grip was strong enough to bruise, but Stiles nodded. “And remember- just because you’re favored by _them_ doesn’t mean _I_ favor you.”

Stiles didn’t need to be reminded, hastily going towards the entrance to the party. Harris’s words burned in his mind. Harris hadn’t been the first slave to jab at him, but he’d been the first with _power_ to threaten to make his life miserable. He shoved it through his mind as he walked through the entrance, slinking towards the back so as not to be noticed.

Laura stood halfway through the room, discussing something with one of the warlords. Stiles thought his name was Ennis or something. Stiles slowly made his way towards the Alpha, looking for Derek all the while.

His eyes couldn’t find him.

Stiles waited a far enough distance away from Laura, unsure of how he should act in this meeting. Maybe they knew. Maybe they were going to blame him. One of the slaves walked toward him, trying to catch his attention. Stiles turned and-

“Why hello, Stiles,” came Peter’s voice, and Stiles jerked upright. Laura gave him a glance from the other side of the room but continued talking. “How’s your chin?”

Stiles grimaced inwardly. He didn’t dare talk back to Peter here. “It is healing, my lord,” he uttered. He arched his neck, looking to see if he could escape back into the serving room. Harris gleefully shook his head, blocking the entrance.

Damn. Caught.

“It’s unfortunate that my nephew hasn’t yet come,” Peter began, motioning to a different servant to bring wine.

“Indeed, Uncle Peter.” Stiles winced as the Alpha spoke, his head bowing.

“Alpha,” he replied in greeting, not daring to raise his eyes. Peter made his own little head nod, before taking a glass and offering it to his niece. “A tricky piece of business, this,” he commented. “With the Argents so strong in Beacon Hills-“

“I should like to speak to Stiles, uncle. Alone, if you don’t mind.” Peter gave a dramatic sigh before he returned to another wolf. Laura watched him go before turning to Stiles again. “I heard Derek ran into you earlier, outside the castle,” she said softly, as if it was a private conversation and all of the warlords could not hear him.

“He did, Alpha,” Stiles replied, and watched as all the wolves seemed to relax at his admission of her status. Wondering if Derek was hiding, he added, “Naked, though. Is that common for him?”

Derek was certainly _not_ hiding, and all of the heads in the room turned to stare at the two of them. Peter was grinning from ear-to-ear while the servants, human, exchanged puzzled glances among themselves, trying to figure out what had been said.

Laura let out a laugh and tried to cover it with her hand. Stiles merely kept his head bowed, not wanting to irk anyone’s wrath. “Serves him right,” Laura murmured to herself, but the other wolves seemed to relax at her words. She wasn’t angry. “Actually, I need you to go find him. He’s in a terrible mood tonight, and I’d rather he wasn’t alone on this full moon.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Peter’s eyes darken. “Yes, Alpha,” Stiles acknowledged, though this seemed to be a wonderfully easy command to follow. Out of Harris’s hair and into Derek’s bed? Yes, please.

He didn’t care that it seemed like prostitution. Derek never made him feel that way, and that was enough. Even when he knew it looked like Laura was sending him to keep her brother company to the eyes of the Elite, he didn’t give a shit. Derek needed him.

Laura dismissed him.

Stiles took the slave entrance back, dodging Harris’s whisper of “whore” to him. Harris probably didn’t get any anyway. Stiles stepped out into the main wing, outside of the hall, and followed the fork to the private rooms.

He remembered Derek’s door- it was bland. Simple. It was easy enough to find, and Stiles stood outside of it, wondering what would happen if he knocked. Would Derek pull him in and fuck him against the bed? Would Derek kiss him all over again, like he had the previous night? Would he remain silent, guilting himself over losing the Argents? The last one seemed the most likely.

At least Stiles would enjoy the bath.

The human knocked against the solid wood. There was no reply. Stiles knocked again. This time Derek opened the door but didn’t come out. “I’ve asked to be left alone,” Derek ordered gruffly. “Leave.”

Stiles stuck his hand in the door before Derek could shut it. “Alpha Hale sent me,” he said slyly. “She said I’m supposed to _entertain_ you.”

Derek froze before he opened the door wider. Stiles stepped inside cheerfully, noting not a light was on in the room. Derek’s eyes shown blue as he shut the door. “Although, to be honest,” Stiles began, his body surging with excitement and energy at the thought of what might happen, “I’d rather do something else than _entertaining_.”

The wolf closed his eyes, cutting out the glow. “Stiles,” he breathed. “It’s close to the full moon. I… I failed in a lot of things over the trip. I won’t be able to control myself,” he admitted.

Stiles’s stomach flipped as he thought over Derek’s words, the honesty within them, and how Derek had been guilting himself over a failed mission. But the familiar pangs of arousal were already sounding throughout his body, his breath coming in pants. He’d risk Derek’s control.

He pinned Derek against the door. Though they both knew Stiles had no real power, Derek gave him control. Derek’s submission thrilled him and the human leaned up and pressed a kiss against Derek’s mouth, hungry and possessive. Derek returned the fervor, wrapping his hands around Stiles’s head as they tried to drown themselves in each other, bodies fitting closely together.

Stiles pulled away first, gasping for breath. Derek’s lips looked swollen, glistening with spit in the darkness of the room. “I can’t control myself for much longer, either,” he whispered. “I’d have snuck in here without your sister’s command.”

Derek went still, listening to Stiles’s heartbeat. He looked up, eyebrows high in surprise as Stiles grinned.

No lie.

“Hey,” Stiles began, his fingertips dragging into the hem of Derek’s pants. Derek swallowed, then snorted.

“When did _you_ get so confident?” Derek murmured, but his hands drifted from Stiles’s head and he placed them over Stiles’s ass. Stiles gasped as their erections rubbed together, remembering what was coming next.

“Desperate,” Stiles corrected, his mind spinning heavily. He wanted to watch Derek as the lord came first tonight because last time that jerk had gotten the better of him. Stiles helped Derek out of his shirt, licking a stripe upwards from his navel to his chin as Derek pulled his shirt over his head. The wolf shuddered, making a whimpering sound.

“I wanna make _you_ feel good this time,” Stiles half stated, half requested, his hands fumbling with the ties of Derek’s pants. Panting, the wolf jerked his hips under Stiles touch, probably super aware that Stiles was now squatting, face even with the wolf’s dick.

Stiles pushed the wolf’s pants down, Derek’s cock springing free. Stiles smirked at the angry, red head peaking out from Derek’s foreskin, precome dripping from the tip. He touched the head gingerly, swirling the liquid around with his fingertip.

Derek growled, hips thrusting again.

“Hello again,” Stiles murmured, keeping his lips close to Derek’s dick, tilting his head upwards a little so the lord could see his face. “You were much shyer earlier today, weren’t you?”

Derek whimpered, his eyes now a solid, bright blue. Stiles grinned cheekily as he slowly opened his mouth. He stretched out his tongue only to miss the tip completely, the wet muscle suddenly pressing in Derek’s pubic hair. Startled, Stiles jumped back while Derek laughed. “You made it look easy,” Stiles grumbled, his sexy facade ruined.

“Take your time,” Derek murmured, but Stiles could read his hips, the tenseness in his stomach. It echoed his own feelings, how close they both were after weeks of worrying after the other.

This time Stiles did manage to press his lips against Derek’s shaft, rolling the foreskin back to expose the bulbous head. Derek tasted like sweat, but it appealed to Stiles. “Don’t wanna,” Stiles murmured, licking from the head downwards, his hands cradling Derek’s balls. “Too close right now.”

His own cock throbbed between his legs, but he ignored it in favor of wrapping his hands along the head of Derek’s cock, pressing kisses against the beautiful member before him. Stiles’s mouth watered, his kisses coming sloppily as he took the head into his mouth and carefully watched his teeth as Derek had done.

“Stiles,” Derek breathed above him, and Stiles smiled his mouth around Derek’s cock, eyes looking upward through his lashes. The dick escaped him, but it was for the best. As soon as Stiles let Derek’s member fall, it began to spurt come, hitting Stiles square in the face.

Stiles laughed at his clumsiness this time, falling back onto the floor. “Oh, man, I can’t be sexy at all,” he uttered. “You’re ten times better, with your neck-sniffing and bed-crawling skills.” He wiped his face off on his sleeve as Derek slid down his door, claws scraping a rather nice engraving into the wood in Stiles’s opinion.

Derek pulled Stiles in for another kiss, though not as desperate. Stiles gave himself willingly, hungrily, crawling onto Derek’s lap and rubbing himself against very hard abs. “Derek,” Stiles murmured as Derek left his lips to kiss down his cheek, “Derek, mark _later_ ,” Stiles whined, his voice breaking. Derek huffed as his hands found their way inside Stiles’s pants.

It didn’t take long for Stiles to spill into the steady, rough hands, but Stiles at least had the satisfaction of knowing he didn’t blow his load first this time. He panted against Derek’s neck as he came, his lips brushing against the skin. His own breath reflected back at him from Derek’s neck, a strange but not unpleasant sensation. Stiles kissed the lord’s neck when he’d recovered enough to move.

“Bath?” Stiles asked.

Derek smiled at him. “You might not like it,” Derek suggested.

Stiles bopped him on the ear. “When would I never love your bath?” Derek held Stiles close, making the mess between them even worse. The two sat for some time doing nothing more than breathing, in awe of being back together.

Stiles kissed a spot at Derek’s neck. “Can I… um.” He paused, not sure how to ask. “I think Laura said I’m staying the whole night, but is that okay with you?”

The wolf tensed underneath him, so Stiles sat back, making eye contact. Derek spoke softly, tracing the human’s cheek. “Do you want to?”

Stiles sighed, pulling away. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asked. “There’s usually a really cuddly werewolf in your bed.” Derek seemed pleased, though his face went back to its neutral position. “Though it is dark.”

“Well, there’s something I’d like to do in the dark,” Derek offered playfully. “As it’s the full moon…” His hands trailed down Stiles’s ass, fingers sliding between his cheeks. Stiles shifted, his head buzzing. His pants needed to go. _Yesterday._

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, his face blushing. He couldn’t admit he’d been yearning for that for weeks. He sighed a little, wincing as felt Derek’s soft cock underneath him. “Will it fit?” he asked, and Derek’s hand moved to his hip, Derek’s face reassuring.

“We’ll take it slow,” Derek assured him, “If it hurts, you tell me. We’ll stop.”

Stiles knew Derek meant that. The human leaned up to press a kiss against his mouth. “I think you are the _only_ were to take it slow on a full moon,” he murmured, kissing Derek chastely again, darting away as Derek tried to press back.

Derek growled. “I think you’re the only human who can pick fights with wolves and get away with it,” Derek replied coolly, but his eyes were looking at Stiles’s chin. Swallowing, Stiles merely mumbled an agreement, running his lips through Derek’s stubble.

 

***

 

“There’s no steam,” Stiles remarked as they entered the bathroom, the stones unfamiliarly chilly and damp. He looked over at Derek. “Why isn’t there any steam? Why is it _cold_?”

The wolf raised his eyebrows in response and waited for Stiles to figure it out. Stiles sighed at the lack of information Derek gave and thought it over. “They… They stopped the fire when you left,” He theorized.

Derek nodded, the only confirmation Stiles got. “Gonna leave me for it?” The wolf teased, coming closer to Stiles, leaning over his shoulder to get to the human’s neck. Stiles grumbled, poking him in the ribs.

“I might,” he threatened but the words held no bite behind them. Derek merely nuzzled his neck. “Given now your soap is going to _burn_ ,” Stiles added.

Derek tensed beside him. Stiles glanced up at Derek’s ashen face, watching as Derek wrestled with himself in horror. Definitely a horror face. “Hey,” Stiles offered, squirming against Derek’s body. “I used it last time. I can use-“

“ _No_ ,” Derek uttered. “That’s only for me.”

Stiles swallowed, his mouth going dry. Derek was angry at him? Stiles’s thoughts turned to the block pulled out for punishing slaves. “Are you mad?” He hoped the fear wouldn’t be apparent in his voice.

That fear seemed to snap Derek out of whatever thought he was holding in his head. The wolf shook his head rapidly, clutching Stiles tightly. “No, no. I’m mad at myself- I wasn’t thinking, I should have found you some decent soap.”

So Derek knew the soap burned. Interesting. Stiles wondered why, until he remembered Danny’s words about the family. “It _burns_ ,” Stiles said quietly, piecing it together.

“It’s supposed to,” Derek remarked softly. “I should have a bar that doesn’t,” he added, stepping away from Stiles. The lord searched through a basket opposite the wall. Stiles watched him quietly, wondering what other things Derek put himself through for penance. Stiles shed his clothes quietly. Derek came back holding a suspicious looking pink bar of soap and a bag.

“It’s based of off shortening,” Derek explained. “It turns pink when there’s shortening and lye.” He handed the soap to Stiles. Stiles could feel the softness in the bar, an almost oily quality to it, not like the hard, dry bricks Derek washed himself with.

“Thanks,” Stiles said, and Derek shook his head. Stiles sighed, deciding to change the subject rather than fight Derek’s internal guilt-trip. “So this thing later. You said I have to prepare somehow?”

Derek turned a little red but nodded, holding out a strange small bag with a nozzle on the tip. Stiles picked it up, squeezing it a little. Water poured out the front, and Stiles turned to Derek, trying to figure out what it was for. Derek looked a little uncomfortable. “It… cleans you out,” the wolf finally offered, his face blushing just a little more. Stiles looked back at the bag in his hands, wondering where it cleaned him out before he figured it out.

“Oooh,” Stiles commented. “That makes so much more sense now.” Derek raised an eyebrow, curiously. Stiles explained, using his hands wildly to get the point across. “Well, Danny mentioned some things, but I always figured there was a risk of poop-dick.” He shrugged. “If you clean out beforehand, that makes a lot of sense.”

Derek groaned. “You make it sound so disgusting.” The wolf leaned over to grab the bag, holding it up. “It takes five minutes to flush, and about 2 hours until you’d be ready,” he informed.

“Let’s do this.” Stiles reached for the bag, but Derek held it away from him. When Stiles pouted, Derek rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Stiles,” Derek commented dryly, “You need to lay down. You can’t do this by yourself.”

Stiles decided not to tell Derek he’d been experimenting with his fingers ever since he had those dreams. It might make it all the sweeter when Derek would watch him later, eyes wide in surprise. “Yeah, sure,” he chirped, laying down on the _cold_ stone and Stiles made a note against sneaking into the room when Derek was away. This cold wasn’t worth being caught. Now, if he could convince Derek to keep it warm…

Derek raised his eyebrows at Stiles’s daydreaming, but ignored it in favor of motioning to Stiles to turn over. The human sighed dramatically, turning over and sitting on his knees, presenting his ass to the wolf.

As soon as he was in the position Stiles knew he liked it; but he wasn’t sure how, so overwhelmed from the previous encounter that he couldn’t tell fresh feelings of arousal from leftover ones. Derek knelt down behind him and Stiles shut his eyes, trying to relax. “Floor’s cold,” Stiles complained.

“It’ll keep your dick from reacting,” Derek commented, his hands sliding Stiles’s cheeks apart. “Gods know you need help with that.”

“Psh,” Stiles argued, waving a hand as best he could, “I have all the help I-“ The bottle slid in, the cold nozzle pressing past his hole, and Stiles adjusted to the feeling. “-Want,” Stiles finished. It… It didn’t feel bad at all. It wasn’t even bigger than his fingers-

 _Oh shit_ _that was cold._

Stiles whimpered as he squeezed his eyes shut, the cold water like ice _inside_ of him. His insides numbed, barely able to feel anything as he let out a cry. The water was too cold. _Too cold_. “Cold.”

Derek didn’t seem to listen and continued pressing the cold liquid inside of him. “I know,” he apologized and Stiles refused to accept it. Surely Derek could have waited to heat up the water? With his own body heat? Or something? Derek leaned over Stiles, removing he bag from his ass. “I’ll let you make sure my cock is nice and hot before it goes in there, yeah?” Derek’s finger pressed against Stiles’s hole and pulled away before he excited it too much.

The human groaned at the thought, clutching his ass so he wouldn’t drip ass water all over Derek’s bathroom. “No sexy,” Stiles managed, and Derek nuzzled his shoulder, planting kisses down his spine.

“Okay. You’re doing good, Stiles, holding it in. It shouldn’t feel like you have to go yet, yeah?” Derek asked him, and Stiles wanted to know how Derek knew the feeling, but didn’t say, letting Derek lead him through it. His belly felt heavy as the water sloshed around. He didn’t have to expel yet, but soon.

His body was having flashbacks to the last time Derek pressed kisses on his spine, and that was pretty agreeable. Stiles let Derek continue, hips trembling. “Not yet,” Stiles agreed, but he eyed the toilet anyway, wondering how long it would take him to get there.

“Good job,” Derek murmured across his skin, the wolf’s teeth nipping at his ribs.

Stiles swung an arm at him. “No sexy,” he scolded, and Derek’s blue eyes looked up at him. “Look, I know you wanna fuck, and it’s going to happen,” he reminded, “but if you do stuff like that I’m going to shit all over you, I swear to the gods.”

Derek’s face said all he needed to and he backed away, no longer in the line of fire. Stiles groaned. “That’s right,” he approved, secretly relieved Derek did _not_ want to be pooped on. “Stupid full moon. Makin’ you extra horny and stuff.”

Derek looked a little surprised at that, and Stiles rolled his eyes. “Beacon Hills _had_ wolves, dude. They went all crazy-horny during a moon, fucking their partners senseless. All the time.” He sighed. “Man, our best blacksmith would spend four days fucking his wife.” He looked over at Derek. “I’m surprised you weren’t _more_ horny last time, to be honest.”

Derek almost preened at that. “Control,” he stated, puffing out his chest a little.

Almost nothing. He _was_ preening, the fucker. Stiles rolled his eyes but he didn’t snark. “I’m impressed,” he stated honestly. Derek’s chest puffed a little further out, eyes flashing. The water sloshing around inside pressed against Stiles, and he winced, trying to stand up. “Alright,” he began. “I’ve got to go.” Derek helped him up.

When he came back, Derek was holding a bucket of water, trying to warm it up for him.

 

***

 

Derek’s bed was soft. There had been extra covers provided for the two of them when Stiles stepped out of the bath. Stiles was still surprised the palace didn’t have fireplaces, but Derek explained this was never supposed to be the original palace. It was a summer palace, which explained the gloomy fields. It was probably gorgeous in the summer.

“What did you used to do here when you’d come in the summer?” Stiles asked, sinking back against Derek’s chest. He didn’t mind being the little spoon- Derek was warm. Derek wrapped his arms around him tightly.

The wolf whispered against Stiles’s ear. “Not tonight,” he requested with heavy vulnerability in his voice, and Stiles all too well understood.

“My mom died when I was ten,” Stiles began softly, and Derek squeezed him tighter. “I was playing by the river. There was a snake I didn’t see. She jumped between us and it bit her.” His words were low, somehow much heavier, much more delicate than he expected. He felt more naked in front of Derek by speaking the words, even more so than when Derek drank in the sight of his post-orgasm haze or when Derek stuck a fucking cold water balloon in his ass.

“She died, of course. But I spent the next years wondering if it was my fault. If I hadn’t been playing there, if I had listened to people warn me about water snakes, if I had picked up a branch or something.” Derek tightened his hold. Stiles swallowed as he recognized Derek’s feelings.

“So, uh, yeah. Not sure why I wanted to share that,” Stiles began, but Derek shook his head, kissing Stiles’s temple.

“Thank you,” Derek murmured. “For sharing.” It felt a little cold, so Stiles pressed himself more against Derek’s back. “I may have to go join the main company with Cora,” Derek informed him. Stiles shut his eyes. He had known it was a possibility but the news still lay heavy in his heart. Derek continued. “It’ll be soon. And probably will involve your home,” he added.

Stiles bit his lip the information expected. It still weighed on him, like a nightmare slowly coming to life. Derek could probably smell his distress. “If I can,” Derek uttered, “I’ll try and save your father.”

His heart went still. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Derek,” Stiles began, his form trembling, but Derek cut him off, kissing his shoulder.

“I promise. I’ll hunt him down myself, and bring him back to you. I’m already talking to Laura about what to do if there are refugees- Peter wants them as slaves, but we’re not… we won’t take any more of your people,” he murmured.

Hot tears trailed down Stiles’s cheeks. Derek meant every word he said, and he offered it so freely, without conditions, without blackmail. His form felt strong and sturdy behind Stiles’s back, more comfort than Stiles had felt since his mom died. Stiles’s throat felt tight. “Thank you,” he whimpered, but his voice broke as his lungs tried to get air he needed for a sob.

Derek wiped the tears away. Stiles tried to breathe normally. “Deaton says I’m supposed to ask you stuff,” Stiles began, trying to change the subject. Derek’s brow furrowed in confusion, so Stiles explained. “I didn’t know much about you. I asked around.”

“And you asked Deaton?” Derek inquired. His eyebrows lifted curiously. Stiles frowned. It seemed Derek did a lot of talking with his eyebrows.

“He didn’t know your favorite color,” Stiles complained. “I think he’s a little useless sometimes.” He turned around in Derek’s arms, pressing his head against Derek’s chest. Stiles’s back was cold, suddenly, but it was worth it.

“He wouldn’t know,” Derek scoffed. “It’s brown.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Like a cello.”

“Brown,” Stiles repeated, committing it to memory. “It’s a pretty color,” Stiles agreed, though he’d never actually seen a cello. It was supposed to be a large fiddle, wasn’t it? “What games do you like to play?”

Derek scoffed. “What?” he grumbled. “I don’t get to know your favorite color?”

Stiles shook his head. “Nope. It’s my question time.”

Derek growled, pressing a kiss to Stiles’s lips quickly. “Fine,” he began, “but if I can’t ask, I’ll find other uses for my mouth than answering your questions.”

“Sexy games,” Stiles answered to himself. Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles ran his hands down Derek’s abs, watching as the wolf shut his eyes, his breath coming quickly. Heat seared through Stiles’s gut, wanting to watch the wolf come apart. “Scott said you already asked questions about me,” he added innocently.

Derek sighed this time and shut his eyes. Stiles laughed. “What things did you ask him?” Stiles inquired, wiggling his hips closer to Derek. “He wouldn’t say.”

The wolf shrugged. His hands trailed down Stiles’s spine tenderly, as if memorizing the human’s shape. “Your past. What Beacon Hills was like.”

Stiles hummed as he remembered Derek’s earlier request about his own past. “Next time,” he said, “I wanna know what your past was like.”

“Deal,” Derek allowed, leaning in and kissing Stiles again. They stayed this time, Stiles’s hands running over the wolf’s chest, Derek’s hands delicately tracing over the human’s sides. Stiles shivered as his cock hardened, his own hands flicking over one of Derek’s nipples.

No reaction. Stiles pouted.

Derek pulled away. “Sorry,” Derek told him. “Doesn’t really do anything for me.” Stiles traced his hands lower, searching his trail of hair he knew would do something for Derek. Stiles watched Derek’s face as his hand traveled lower and lower. Derek’s eyes glowed blue and hooded over, his brow growing out as Derek fought transforming.

That was always Stiles’s favorite part.

“What about that?” Stiles asked him, and bent down to press his lips against Derek’s chest, grabbing hair in his lips and tugging at it gently. Derek groaned, his hips thrusting outwards, seeking more friction. Stiles wasn’t worried about Derek’s refractory period. Derek could get hard more than six times a night. Stiles knew that firsthand and the knowledge was maddening.

Stiles slowed his grip, mouth moving to Derek’s neck, suckling at the skin. Derek groaned as his hips moved of their own accord, fucking into Stiles’s hand. Stiles pulled back, admiring his handiwork, noting that it didn’t fade right away.

Could wolves even heal hickies? Was Stiles magic? Maybe he was magic.

His eyes moved to Derek’s face, ready to ask about the hickey. Derek’s eyes were shut, his mouth open as he breathed, ecstasy clearly written in every line of his face. Stiles couldn’t find it in him to ask. He did smile at the display, though.

 _Totally magic_ , he thought, his own gut smoldering. “I can’t want to feel you inside me,” he murmured, pressing kisses along Derek’s jaw. The wolf grunted, his cock throbbing in Stiles’s hand, heavy and hot. Stiles tightened his grip, just enough, and Derek’s fingers dug into Stiles’s hips, his mouth falling over the human’s neck and his cock pulsing in Stiles’s hands as the wolf came.

“Beautiful,” Stiles murmured, because Derek _was_. He was gorgeous as he came down from his orgasm against Stiles, trusting Stiles enough to take care of him. Derek felt so vulnerable in these moments and Stiles felt something warm bubble up as he thought about it.

Aside from his arousal. Which had also bubbled up.

Derek breathed heavily for a moment, a little too heavy. Stiles adjusted them on the bed so Derek lay on top of him, Stiles underneath. It was his favorite position, anyway, watching Derek coming down, not able to do anything. He felt safe right now, though sometimes he pictured himself on top of Derek. Maybe next time.

Derek breathed against him and Stiles placed more kisses along his jaw, meeting Derek’s mouth. The lord met his kisses equally, but they were lazy and sloppy, as if Derek was too distracted to care. Stiles shifted his hips a little, his hard on wanting more friction against the planes of Derek’s stomach.

“Derek,” Stiles pleaded. “Has it been two hours yet?”

Derek huffed, chuckling. “Give me a moment,” Derek assured him, kissing him in promise.

Stiles’s cock jumped. He could live with that promise. Opening his legs a little wider, he reveled in the feel of Derek’s weight between them. Derek kissed him intensely this time, which did nothing but add fuel to the fire in Stiles’s gut. Finally Derek moved his mouth lower, past his chest and down to his cock. Again. Stiles wiggled his hips, mind reeling with memory.

This was going to be great.

Only Derek didn’t move to suck his cock. Instead Derek _left him_. Stiles sat up, eyes narrowing. Derek turned his back, rifling through a drawer. “You’ll want some lubricant,” Derek explained but Stiles still didn’t understand, his hand trailing close to his weeping cock. The wolf sighed. “Stop touching yourself,” he growled. Stiles removed his hand, unsure of how the wolf knew with his _back turned_. Maybe Stiles was making noise.

Slowly, he moved his hand back, trying to be as quiet as possible. Derek growled, and he set his hand back on the bed. “I’m going to have to tie you up,” Derek commented, still searching, and Stiles nearly fell back in the bed at that image. Yes, please. Oh, he wanted to be tied up, to struggle pointlessly as Derek tried to get him to come.

Derek sniffed the air, clearly noticing how much Stiles liked that idea, filing it away for another time. The lord held up a jar before climbing back over the human. “Miss me?” he murmured as Stiles grabbed ahold of him, demanding another kiss.

“Tying me up one day,” Stiles instructed him. Derek’s eyes went blue again, and Stiles smirked, knowing Derek’s cock would soon be rising, full and hard, his member swollen with lust. Derek tried to shake off the words, sitting back and spreading Stiles’s legs. His eyes betrayed him. They still glowed blue.

Stiles whimpered, exposed before Derek in a new way. He trembled, trying to adjust his weight on the sheets, but he kept slipping. His hands bunched up fabric between his fingers, trying to find a grip on anything.

Derek kissed the inside of his thigh and nibbled gently at the soft skin. Stiles watched, transfixed as a gentle kiss turned into a hickey, the wolf’s mouth so close to his leaking member. Pleasure shot up his leg, liquid-hot. Stiles flexed his hips in an attempt to get Derek to notice his distress. “Please,” Stiles begged, voice cracking.

Derek pulled away and sweat dripped down the side of his face. His hands opened the jar, fingers dipping into the stuff. “It’ll make it easier,” Derek informed him, his hand headed towards his hole. Realizing what was about to happen, Stiles suddenly pressed both feet against Derek’s chest, regretting how much he had to flex his legs in order to do so.

Derek looked up at him, distressed.

“It had better _not_ be cold,” Stiles warned lowly.

Instantly Derek rubbed his fingers together, warming up the goop. Stiles removed his feet and spread his legs out again, resting them on Derek’s shoulders. His body arched as he felt a finger press against his hole. Stiles let out a small noise as Derek pressed in, body adjusting to the new sensation. His own fingers were on thing, but Derek’s were different, touching spots he didn’t know. Derek easily slipped another finger inside him, stretching them apart, easing Stiles’s hole open.

“You…” Derek added another finger, his brow furrowed. “Why can I fit three fingers?”

Stiles smirked. “Maybe I’ve been thinking about this a while,” he admitted, gasping as Derek brushed against something inside of him. His cock pulsed with pleasure, hips jutting forward.

Derek watched him carefully, but he wasn’t displeased. “How long?”

“Since you left,” Stiles informed him, still breathing heavily. “Wanted to prepare myself. Just in case.” His lip trembling, his knuckles white, he lifted his legs and wrapped himself around Derek. “Please,” Stiles begged. “I wanna feel you inside me, Derek. Want you to claim me, make me _yours-_ “

At Derek’s growl Stiles knew he had said the right thing, Derek’s fingers slipping out of him. Derek carefully warmed up the lubricant, coating his dick liberally. “Ever have anything this big inside you?” Derek asked him, and Stiles raised his head, taking in the sight of Derek’s lubed cock.

It wasn’t going to fit. Derek soothed him as Stiles told him so, lining them up, pressing against Stiles’s hole. He waited for Stiles to nod before he pressed in.

It _was_ too big. “Derek,” Stiles warned, trying to adjust to the sensation. It felt huge, firm, nothing like his fingers. “Wait.” His hands gripped uselessly at the sheets as he forced himself to relax. It pressed inside him, giving him no slack, a thick strong something and Stiles shuddered.

Derek growled, holding Stiles’s hips up. “It’s just the tip,” Derek informed him, and Stiles let out a breath at the thought.

“No way,” he uttered. “Fine, slide it all in.” Stiles shut his eyes and tried to relax and not focus on how big Derek seemed, how much he felt stretched and stuffed.

Stiles had never felt so full in his life. He let out a cry, his hips trying to adjust to the intruder as Derek pressed onwards. Finally, Derek throbbed inside him, fully sheathed. Stiles could feel Derek throbbing in his _throat_. Stiles adjusted, somehow loving this feeling despite how uncomfortable it was.

He wanted more.

Derek waited for his approval. Stiles could see the strain on Derek’s face, in the way his muscles tensed. “Okay,” Stiles encouraged him, and Derek pulled back slowly, leaving Stiles feeling empty.

Then he shoved back in again, that full feeling returning. Stiles cried out, his hands gripping Derek’s shoulders tightly, nails digging into the skin. “Fuck,” Stiles breathed. “That’s it. Fill me, Derek, stretch me out like this,” he added, and Derek pulled out before thrusting in again, his balls slapping against Stiles’s ass.

Stiles squirmed, fire coursing through his veins. It felt wonderful. All he could focus on was the next thrust. Derek pushed into him again, this time hitting against something, and Stiles saw white, his fingers now scratching along Derek’s back. Derek growled at him, thrusting in again, this time letting himself grunt as Stiles’s ass tightened around him.

Stiles felt himself sliding to that beautiful edge and he clung tighter, lungs bursting to get enough oxygen. Then he was tumbling, sliding over that marvelous edge of orgasm, and he came, come splattering between them. His muscles twitched and jerked as he fell back onto the bed, completely sure he was spent tonight, body shaking as Derek kept thrusting inside his sensitive body.

It didn’t take Derek long to follow, and Stiles felt glad that he’d come first this time. Fondly, he watched as Derek’s fangs protruded from his mouth, how he tensed, he shook, and _howled_ as hot liquid splashed inside Stiles. Derek stayed inside for a moment, breathing heavily as he tried to control his instincts. Finally he pulled out. Stiles winced at how strange it felt. Derek collapsed over the body underneath him, his wet, soft cock mixing with Stiles’s own semen.

That was a strange image, Stiles thought, but somehow he didn’t mind. He leaned up to kiss Derek’s cheek. “Thanks,” he murmured, tired.

Derek exhaled, too exhausted to form any sort of facial movement. Stiles closed his eyes. He opened them as lips pressed against his shoulder, Derek’s eyes watching him intently. “Was it good?” Derek asked him gently, tenderly, as if Stiles would break.

“Pft, no,” Stiles remarked, watching Derek’s face fall as he added, “It was wonderful. Stupendous. The best thing I’ve ever experienced.”

Derek slapped his shoulder and climbed out of bed. The wolf grabbed the lube from where it lay on the covers, sealing it shut. “You’re terrible,” he remarked, glaring at the human. Stiles offered a shrug along with lifted eyebrows and a “what you gonna do?” face.

As Derek turned his back, Stiles noted the scratches trailing up and down his skin. Stiles’s fingers twitched reflexively at the memory. Those were _his_ marks. They looked good on Derek. And, Stiles noted as he scanned for it, Derek still had the hickey.

“Why haven’t you healed?” Stiles asked him, and Derek raised an eyebrow curiously, producing a towel from a set of drawers. As Derek cleaned them both up, Stiles continued. “You still have a hickey. And scratches. From me.”

Derek’s eyes flickered in understanding, his hands gently wiping down Stiles’s penis and it was probably a good sign of how wiped Stiles was if his cock wasn’t reacting. “Didn’t want to heal them,” Derek said softly. “Sometimes we can keep wounds from healing, if we’re conscious.”

“Oh.” Stiles remarked, watching as Derek threw the towel into the bathroom. “That’s cool.” He sat up and moved under the covers, Derek snuggling alongside him, tracing his mark. “I like that.”

Derek wiggled inside Stiles’s arms, bringing their heads together. “Me too,” he admitted, kissing Stiles’s forehead. “Go to sleep.”

Stiles yawned and shut his eyes, satiated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Season Finale. Hope you enjoyed this happy chapter. Even if Victoria died in it. :/ (I actually didn't mean to post this during the finale, but that's what ended up happening). 
> 
> I want to say thanks again for all the comments and kudos you've given me! They always make my day. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna say thank you for 200 kudos! And 5000 hits! And all your lovely comments! ~I am so happy~
> 
> When I wrote this chapter it ended up being 7000 words, which is half the size of the other chapters. So I added some extra sex scenes (and ended up with some extra plot scenes, too), and now the chapter is 14000 words. Hurray for all of us, especially those that have no free time to read an extra 7000 words! :p
> 
> !!!!…With that being said, if you are having a bad day, you might wanna wait to read this until the next chapter. Notice my chapters are trying to go: good, bad, good… well, bad things happen in this chapter. !!!!

The next week Stiles saw little of Derek as the wolf prepared the troops. In Stiles’s own life, Harris worked him hard, and Deaton demanded herbs, and at night Stiles rested well. He was a busy man now. His body shut down the moment he lay on his bed.

Stiles did hear rumors of a big attack in his work, and rumors about stocking up forces to prepare for a battle. It would explain why the guards suddenly were doubling for training, why Laura’s brow seemed permanently furrowed, why Derek had yet to call him back to his room.

Scott wasn’t training, though, and Stiles’s heart stilled at that. Scott wouldn’t be going off to war.

A section of the guard was quadrupling their training, a good sign they were heading off to battle soon. Each time Stiles saw the soldiers in the yard his heart ached for a home he knew he no longer had, remembering Derek’s warning about Beacon Hills. He had yet to tell his friends about it.

Harris moved Stiles to serving lunch boxes to the training guards during the day in hopes working by himself would somehow lower his spirits. If anything, Harris had sent Stiles to watch Derek training the soldiers shirtless. By himself.

Harris fumed beautifully when he realized his mistake.

Stiles’s job was to make sure the guards were fed, taking pre-made lunch boxes from the kitchens into the yard or Great Hall, depending on the weather. The guards were all very pleasant and chatty, telling him the latest gossip, sometimes asking him about his own love life. Stiles often over-exaggerated the rumors, and by the third day there were only three guards who continued to believe what Stiles claimed.

Derek never came by though, preferring to eat his lunch with Laura if at all. So nobody could double-check with the Hale lord about the rumors, or Stiles’s exaggerations, although the lord’s absence might be why they felt comfortable asking in the first place.

“Thanks,” Erica mentioned one day, taking her lunchbox from Stiles. Stiles handed another to Boyd. “Meat?” She asked hopefully.

Stiles shrugged. “No idea. Lots of rice, though. Stores easy and good carbs for you.” Boyd took the box, grunting. Isaac bounded up as well, hoping for seconds. Stiles swatted his hand, and Isaac laughed.

“You _are_ the only slave who could get away with that,” Isaac said, but no malice lay behind his words. “Even Laura’s assistant doesn’t smack _wolves_.”

Stiles clucked his tongue. “Clearly Danielle has never been around wolves,” he replied, “Certainly not hungry ones. There are fifty more guards who still need lunch. If I have extra, you’ll get one then.” Stiles continued handing out boxes, trying not to look up when Derek bellowed for Erica and Boyd. Isaac glanced between them.

“We’re shipping out tomorrow,” he informed Stiles, carefully watching for his reaction. Probably he had money on whatever bet the guards had made this time.

Stiles gave him none. “Cora will be glad for reinforcements,” he commented coolly, continuing to give boxes to guards, who grumbled about the lack of meat.

The curly-haired wolf moved next to him. “I’m not fighting,” he added. “I’m on rescue. If we encounter any civilians, I get to carry them to safety.” He looked over pointedly at Derek, then back to Stiles. “Did you ask him to rescue the town? We thought they were all Argent Sympathizers.”

“We’re not,” Stiles uttered, trying not to clench his teeth. “And no, I didn’t ask him anything.”

Isaac hummed, clearly listening to Stiles’s heartbeat, which bugged him to no end. There was never a clearer sign that a werewolf didn’t believe someone than when he listened to a heartbeat. “Well, I’m excited. I’ve never gotten to help someone before,” Isaac explained. “Derek was talking about how we can take pain away from people- maybe I can help.” His face looked excited when he said it, so honest and open for once, and Stiles smiled at him, putting the previous comment behind him.

“You’ll be a big help,” he surmised. “Scott’s mom, she’s our healer.” He handed another box to a hungry guard. “She’d probably love to have you helping out.”

Isaac raised an eyebrow, passing a box to another guard. “Thirty-eight,” he counted. “Things are looking better all the time.”

“Some things _do_ look better all the time,” Stiles agreed, his eyes trailing on Derek’s form. Derek seemed to stutter from across the room, his eyes meeting Stiles’s in a dirty look. Stiles shrugged and handed out another box. Mentally he reminded himself that Derek had probably heard a _lot_ of the comments he made under his breath. As had the rest of the wolves. Oh well. “I hope you guys make it back safely,” he uttered.

“We will,” Isaac assured him. “We’ve all got our battle plans ready, and it’s only three days run from here.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “That’s five days for the horses,” he remarked, surprised. He didn’t realize wolves were that fast. 

Isaac nodded. “Right. Horses.” Another lunch box. “Forty-three,” he counted, hopeful. “Harris makes you do these alone?”

“Yup,” Stiles answered. “Get to haul them and everything. That’s why I let you all eat the extras.”

Isaac frowned, his eyes glazing. “We all like you,” he finally said. “If Harris does anything-“

Stiles took note. “Hey,” he assured Isaac, “I know to tell someone if Harris treats me wrongly.” He handed out the fiftieth lunchbox to the final guard, and handed Isaac a special lunchbox prepared especially with meat. “Here.”

Isaac scoffed, but took the lunchbox. “Who would you tell?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

Stiles scoffed back at him. “Peter,” he answered plainly.

The whole room turned to watch Isaac as he choked on his bread.

 

***

 

Stiles finished turning in his herbs when Erica found him in Deaton’s office. “He wants you tonight,” she said before she paused. When it dawned on her what she had said, the guard broke into a grin. “He wants you every night, really, but he’s _asked_ for you tonight.”

Stiles looked up at Deaton awkwardly before turning to the lady guard. “Hey, whoa there, yeah, thanks for embarrassing me in front of other people,” he jabbed, praying Deaton wouldn’t care. Deaton didn’t looked like he cared. Hell, Deaton probably was the first person to know anything would happen between them.

Erica shrugged. “You embarrassed him in front of a group of our _leaders_ ,” she returned. “He’s told all the guards to make you embarrassed if he should call for you.”

Stiles sighed. “Aren’t I lucky,” he commented dryly, but there was no bite behind it. “Is that good, Doc? I’ll get more tomorrow, keep your supplies high for when all these guys come back.”

Deaton smiled, his eyes perfectly saying _I really wish they would all come bac_ k while his mouth instead said “Sounds like a plan. Wouldn’t want to keep your wolf waiting, now would we?”

Stiles smiled. He liked that about Deaton. Deaton didn’t treat him as a slave, didn’t mention a master or a lord. Derek was the same, never mentioning power or politics.

“Come on,” Erica groaned, taking Stiles’s arm. “I gotta escort you there.” Despite Stiles’s protests she dragged him along the halls. Stiles refrained from mentioning he could get there himself. It was good he did, for Erica soon started speaking secrets. “He’s been nervous all day,” she said. “We’re terrified he won’t get a decent night’s sleep, but when he asked for you… well, we’re not sure. If he proposes, I wanna have the best dress at the wedding.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure Derek’s going to be wearing the dress,” he joked, and Erica laughed. “But seriously. Too early.”

Erica shook her head, stopping where they were. “Listen, Stilinski,” she said lowly. “He hasn’t opened up like this before. He hasn’t gone crazy for anyone since Kate. He’s been reserved, aloof, and then he started following you-“

“-Like a creeper,” Stiles interjected.

“-And he’s relaxed. He _smells_ happy. He’s serious about you.” She watched his eyes, her own flashing gold.

Stiles nodded, half terrified of her eyes. “I understand.” Erica searched his face, nodding as she saw sincerity there. He was glad she didn’t do heartbeat listening.

“Good,” she said. “I figured you would. And I agree, it’s totally creepy, and you don’t have much choice in the matter,” she said off-handedly, her eyes growing dim, looking off into the distance. “But he’ll treat you right.”

Stiles swallowed. Erica understood. Sometimes she acted human, very human. Maybe she was bitten, like Scott. Bitten wolves didn’t always remember to listen to heartbeats. Maybe once she was a slave, and maybe her previous owner didn’t treat her right at all. They stood in quiet for a moment.

Regaining her focus, Erica patted his cheek. Stiles attempted to bite her hand in play. “Come on, now,” she began, “Let’s not keep him waiting.” The slave followed the guard, wondering about her past as she flung open the door.

“Knock next time, Erica,” Derek chastised dryly, going over papers on his table. “But you were much quieter this time. I couldn’t hear you over Stiles’s feet.” Stiles feigned mock-hurt in realizing Derek cared more about Erica’s stealth than his presence, but Derek didn’t even notice his actions, eyes glued to the papers. Erica looked surprised, but she shrugged at the slave, leaving the two alone.

The room was soundless and empty. Not even Derek’s armor lay out for tomorrow, probably packed away. Stiles looked around unsure of what he should do. Finally, he settled on sitting next to Derek, not pressed against him, but close enough to show he was physically present, as if the wolf couldn’t tell that.

Stiles’s eyes widened in surprise as he noted the map on the desk, recognizing the preserve around the hill. “Beacon Hills,” he commented. Derek only grunted, going over something with his finger.

“Don’t take that path,” Stiles suggested. “Kate planted a mountain ash and wolfsbane trap. The ash closes behind you in a wooden cage as wolfsbane-infused water drips down over you.”

Eyebrows nearly at his hairline, Derek stared incredulously at Stiles. Stiles shrugged. “My dad was the sheriff, which meant our home was her base for a while,” he commented softly. “I know a couple of her secrets.”

Derek looked even more concerned, then, and Stiles sighed, knowing he shouldn’t have said anything. Stupid mouth, risking everything. “She poisoned Dad,” he offered, and Derek listened as his face relaxed, suspicion gone. “She took the food, gave it to her soldiers. She placed traps along the preserve. When I was running, there was a mother and a daughter with me. The mother didn’t make it.”

The lord looked over the slave, and Stiles wondered what he must look like. He felt small and lost. Here he sat, giving advice to his lord-lover on how to invade his home. He’d also just admitted to living with the woman who killed most of Derek’s family. Granted, he’d admitted she’d tried to killed _his_ family, but damn, he was just pointing the evidence at himself, wasn’t he?

“How did you get out?” Derek asked him, his hand reaching for Stiles’s knee. Stiles took the pen, dipped it in ink, and circled five different places on the map.

“There’s an old system of tunnels,” Stiles informed him, mouth slightly open as he concentrated. “These two here are only wide enough for two people, but we used to get shipments up these three. We closed them off when the Argents came and kept emergency food supplies there. There are a couple of entrances,” Stiles marked those, as well, “but the girl and I, we went down into one tunnel and emerged, running when one of the Hale scouts picked us up. They threw us into a make-shift shed and I came here.” Stiles returned the pen. “I don’t know if she knows about those tunnels now,” he answered honestly. “But if you need to get to the city center quickly, they would be your best bet.”

Derek pulled over the information. “What would the town do in an emergency?” Derek asked him, his eyes focused on the map. 

“They’d flee to the center, where the tunnels should be. They aren’t easy to get to- they’re underneath a giant oak tree. You have to look for the right cobble stones to open the doors.” Stiles drew a symbol on the map. “It looks like that.”

Derek’s eyes looked over at it. “A nemeton,” he breathed. “Deaton’s mentioned those.”

Confusion filled Stiles. “It’s an old oak tree,” he uttered, confused. Derek shook his head, waving away the comment.

“Hmm,” he murmured, and Stiles shrugged, wondering if Derek would believe him. He’d given too much away already, he thought. Derek would put two and two together, and-

Derek’s hand squeezed his knee, somewhat comforting. “I’m just nervous about the battle,” Derek told him. “Assisting Cora. Making sure the town is safe. Finding your father.”

Stiles squeezed his hand back. “If you can’t, a townsperson will know where he is,” he assured Derek. “I don’t want you to…to get hurt looking for him.” He hoped Derek would be able to pick up the words he couldn’t yet say. _I don’t want you to die looking for him_.

The wolf pulled Stiles next to him, pressing their sides together, his hands running along Stiles’s right shoulder. “I don’t plan to get hurt,” Derek promised him. Stiles rested his head along Derek’s shoulder, craving some form of intimacy.

Derek didn’t say much after that, reviewing papers and forms and battle tactics. Stiles tried to stifle a yawn. Maybe Derek had brought him here to be a pillow for the evening. They hadn’t spent any other moon together. Maybe Derek didn’t have a sex drive outside of the moon?

Stiles frowned, curiosity getting the better of him. His hand slipped across Derek’s thigh. It twitched underneath his hand. Derek didn’t even seem to notice, so Stiles slid down a little further, his hands messing with the string on Derek’s pants, his cock still flaccid beneath the fabric. Stiles rolled his eyes. It figured.

Derek seemed engrossed in the papers in front of him, not responding. He did seem to shudder as Stiles pulled out his cock though, breathing on the head. Stiles licked along the slit, and Derek inhaled sharply. “Stiles,” he uttered, but Stiles cut him off.

“Let me make you feel good tonight,” Stiles told him, “And then you get to bed. Worry about it in the morning.”

Derek groaned. “I need to worry about this now,” he countered, but his hands gripped his pen tightly. Betraying his resolve, his member hardened rapidly in Stiles’s hand.

“Well then, we’ll just have to both do our bests, won’t we?” Stiles asked, his eyes raised in challenge. The lord huffed and glared at Stiles before pointedly staring at his papers. A challenge, then.

Stiles licked his lips before wrapping them around his teeth, bobbing his head along Derek’s dick. Derek’s knuckles went white as his hands grasped the table. Not much would fit in his mouth comfortably, but that was fine. The moan Derek released was worth it.

Soon Derek was throbbing underneath him, hips bucking as the wolf tried desperately to focus on the maps over the table. Stiles sucked harder, swirling his tongue across the slit, his hands stroking Derek’s shaft rapidly. Abs tightened, Derek’s tell that he was about to come, and Stiles prepared himself, ready to drink it down.

Fighting back release, Derek gripped the table.

Stiles increased his grip, stroking faster, sucking harder. It didn’t matter that his jaw felt like it was going to fall off. He could fix it tomorrow.

The first spurts of liquid fell on Stiles’s tongue before Derek poured into his mouth, Stiles swallowing the bitter fluid with ease. Derek merely whimpered as Stiles sucked him dry, pulling away with a “pop” and the world’s smuggest grin. Derek’s head fell back, the wolf taking a moment to breathe before he spoke. Stiles merely sat up, crawling over Derek’s lap and waited for Derek to acknowledge his excellent cock sucking skills.

“I was so sure you’d poke yourself in the eye or something,” Derek finally muttered.

Stiles bit him on the neck. “Asshole,” he muttered, but his temper quelled when the mark refused to disappear. Pride welled up in his chest. Derek wanted to wear his mark.

Derek kissed his neck in return, beard rugged and scratchy. Stiles squirmed underneath it, petulant noises erupting from his throat. Derek laughed.

“I was expecting you to put up more of a fight,” Stiles told him, craning his head to look at the maps on the table. “But I won.”

Derek scoffed. “I think we both won,” he replied, his grin wide and silly. He always looked this happy after he came, blissful and content. Stiles’s heart swelled up at the thought and placed a quick kiss on Derek’s nose. “Well, then, how long do I have before another round?” he asked, and Derek groaned.

“Let me put the maps away, at least,” Derek requested. “You can get in the bath or something.” At Stiles’s scowling face, he added, “It’s warm.”

“It had better be,” Stiles muttered, crawling off Derek’s lap. He watched as the lord studied the maps one more time, rolling them up in his hands. “Hey, Derek?” Stiles called out.

Derek looked up, his eyebrows asking his question for him.

“Do you have that bag-thing again? For my butt?” Stiles added.

The sound of ripping maps tore through the room. Followed by silence. Followed by a quiet utter of “fuck”. Stiles couldn’t help but grin as Derek helplessly looked at his ruined maps.

“It’s by your soap,” Derek told him, sighing as he set the maps down. “I’ll be a little longer.” The wolf turned to the door, probably calling for another blank map or something to patch the scraps together.

 _My soap_ , Stiles thought to himself, the words giddily rushing through him. He had his own soap. He was probably the entire slave in the place-

Stiles stopped walking, feet on cold tile. _The only slave… to have his own soap_ , his mind finished. The tone seeped darkness and depression. He still wasn’t free. He still wasn’t anything, really.

Stiles shook his head. It would do for now.

 

***

 

It took Derek a while to return, but Stiles didn’t mind more time in the bath. The wolf looked sheepish and tired when he came in, clothes already stripped off. Not that Stiles was complaining about the nakedness, but part of him wanted to see his lover not stressed out.

Two thoughts unanimously presented themselves in Stiles’s mind: he was the cause of Derek’s stress, and he was Derek’s _lover_.

He blushed as he focused on the second point, diving under the warm water to soak his head. Bobbing up, Stiles wiped the water away from his eyes. The wolf watched him, stalking closer. “I feel like a helpless deer,” the human cooed. “You’re going to catch and eat me.”

The grin Derek gave was only the tiniest bit unsettling. “Maybe,” he mentioned. “Only if you prepared yourself tonight,” he added, his grin disappearing. Maybe Stiles thanked the gods for that, because that grin was scary and arousing in all the wrong ways. All the best of ways, really, if Stiles allowed himself to think about it.

“Success,” Stiles informed him, “although it was _cold_ again.” He pouted, making sure his lips were wet with spit. As planned, Derek’s eyes lingered a little too long on them. Derek dipped his bucket in the water, and Stiles quickly swam over to the side. Derek patted his head, his hands trailing down Stiles’s wet cheek. “You’re lucky I-“

Stiles clamped his mouth shut as he realized what he was about to say. Equally shocked, Derek pulled back as if burned, the water in the bucket sloshing around a little. Stiles buried his mouth in the water, his heart racing.

He’d almost said that. His chest ached. It would have been true, if he’d said it.

The warm water felt cold against his face, and Stiles looked up at the wolf. The lord’s face gazed at him tenderly, his hand reaching for Stiles’s. He pulled the human to the edge of the bath, lifting him halfway out. “Me too,” he whispered, and he pressed a soft kiss to Stiles’s mouth, chaste, sweet.

Yet it burned more hotly than anything Stiles had ever felt before.

Derek let Stiles fall back in the bath gently, guiding the human’s body back in the water before turning away, wetting his skin and starting to wash. Stiles watched him, face still hot. “So, uh,” he began. “What’s your favorite thing about me?”

“We already talked about this,” Derek called back, washing his dick a little too thoroughly. Stiles winced. That had to hurt.

“I wanna hear it again,” Stiles replied. “Maybe all day. Like, maybe you should write an epic poem about me and sing it in front of all the slaves.”

Derek sighed, shaking his head at Stiles’s silliness. Stiles grinned as Derek resignedly looked his way. “About your mouth, that gets you into trouble?”

“Right. Like that. And my hands. And my refusal to submit.” Stiles kicked his legs a little in the water, wiggling his eyebrows.

The older man looked like he wanted to say something at that, and Stiles could see him consider it, weigh the options, and let it go. Instead the wolf huffed and rinsed himself off. A wise choice, in Stiles’s opinion. Derek sighed dramatically and clambered into the tub, sitting across from Stiles. Who might have been gesturing for Derek to continue with his words.

Rubbing his foot along Stiles’s leg, Derek closed his eyes and thought. “I’ve mentioned how upfront and honest you are, and how nothing seems to faze you,” he said lowly. “It’s true. You don’t… seem to care what society says you need to do. You just do it.” Stiles crocked his head to the side. Derek continued. “You don’t play the games most slaves do, wanting power or influence. You just… you’re just yourself. Usually by the first night they’d always ask for something.”

So Derek had slept with other people. The thought somehow held dark in his mind, uncomforting. Possession lay there too.

Stiles felt _possessive_ of Derek.

Derek continued speaking. “I’d given up until I saw you,” he replied. “I guess…”

“Stay given up,” Stiles said, surprising them both. Derek’s brow furrowed, his foot dropping. Stiles buried his head in his hands, realizing what he’d said. “No, that’s not… I mean…” he took in a breath, holding Derek’s very worried gaze. “I’m glad you aren’t seeing other people,” he uttered. “I… I want- oh, fuck, anything I want to say sounds like I’m a possessive asshole.” He groaned, his head in his hands again. Shit.

Derek’s face at least had color again. “Whatever you want to say, Stiles,” he assured. “I won’t take offense.”

“I want you to be mine,” Stiles blurted out, clearly not done with embarrassing himself for today. Derek’s face washed in relief, letting go of the breath he’d been holding. Stiles felt stupid. “It’s not for me to ask,” he added quickly, “I know I have no right-“

“You have every right,” Derek assured him, this time climbing over onto Stiles’s lap, their positions reversed from earlier. Stiles swallowed. Derek looked sexy like this. “Besides, I’m a wolf. I understand.”

He would. He did. Stiles kissed Derek’s collarbone, suckling a little. Derek groaned, shifting on his lap. Stiles grinned, feeling the beginnings of the lord’s hard-on against his stomach. He pulled away, his lips feeling just a little numb.

“Stiles, maybe-“ Derek broke off into a groan as Stiles pressed his lips right next to that spot, his hips jerking a little upwards, jostling the wolf a bit. Derek’s hands found his and he entwined their fingers together, holding Derek tightly as he finished a row of hickies on Derek’s collar.

“Sorry, sorry,” Stiles murmured. “I couldn’t help myself. You were saying?”

Derek groaned. “You,” was all he breathed.

Stiles grinned. “Me. I claimed you.” Derek pressed their mouths together, letting Stiles explore his for a change. Tongues ran over teeth, lips mushed against each other before Derek pulled back.

“You claimed me,” he agreed. The hickies stayed in place. Leaning forward, the wolf placed another kiss on Stiles’s lips. Stiles opened his mouth, tongues brushing against each other, Derek’s hands coming to grasp his cheeks.

They remained like that for a while, exploring each other’s mouths, before Derek pulled away, Stiles’s lips puffy and bruised. The slave looked up at him as Derek’s eyes for once didn’t flash- they merely held his gaze, valuing him.

Stiles swallowed, his hands moving up Derek’s ribs, feeling them expand as Derek took deep breaths. He met Derek’s gaze with fondness, feeling like his heart might burst. It was all too much, but somehow he wasn’t afraid if his heart did burst. He knew Derek would be there to pick up the pieces.

“To bed?” Derek asked almost shyly. Stiles nodded eagerly. He couldn’t wait any longer, and if his patience was gone, Derek’s couldn’t be far behind.

Derek didn’t even wait to dry Stiles off before lifting him up over his shoulder. Startled, Stiles laughed and reached down to smack Derek’s ass in punishment. “Warn me next time,” he commanded. Derek huffed, clearly enjoying showing off his strength to the human.

“Shush,” Derek commanded, quickly trotting through the bathroom hallway. “I want to claim _you_ now.”

Stiles wiggled at that, his cock interested. As Derek threw him onto the duvet, Stiles sat up, arms back, watching as Derek headed for the drawer with the lubricant again. “You should just leave it under your pillow or something,” he commented.

“Maids,” Derek replied, continuing to search.

Stiles knew. And he knew he’d paid one of the maids in Jackson wineskin to move the lubricant to under Derek’s pillow, just to see how long it’d take him to figure out where it was. Stiles’s right hand moved backward, feeling the cold jar against his fingers. Victory.

An array of colors poured out in front of him as Derek dumped the contents of the drawer onto the bed, right near Stiles’s feet. Stiles’s eyes went wide as he looked at the bright hues; he’d never seen anything like it. These clothes were… important. Fancy. He moved his toe to feel the smooth, cool fabrics while Derek looked through them.

“Where is it?” Derek growled, his hands nearly tearing the uniform apart. It hadn’t been Stiles’s intention to have a grumpy Derek. He smiled and tapped his foot against Derek’s head.

Derek snapped up. Frustration turned to exasperation as he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.  “Where is it?” he asked, stuffing the fabrics back into the drawer, setting it aside. Stiles grabbed the jar and pulled it out from under Derek’s pillow.

“It’s been there for three days,” Stiles informed him, a smug grin over his face. Derek climbed onto the edge of the bed, his eyes thinking of some sort of punishment for Stiles’s joke. At least, Stiles hoped he was planning a punishment.

He shifted his hips a little, just in case Derek wasn’t thinking of his ass or how smackable it could be. As Derek reached for the jar Stiles rocked his hips again. The wolf merely studied his jar in silent challenge.

Not wanting to go down that quickly, Stiles flipped over on his stomach, maybe lifting his hips just a little, gyrating his ass. “You going to get started?” he poked, hoping Derek would lose his patience. 

The low reply made Stiles’s gut clench. “Are you trying to make me angry?” Derek uttered, fitting his form over Stiles’s own. Stiles shifted back against the hard heat of Derek’s cock, wanting it somewhere inside him.

“Maybe,” Stiles teased, and Derek pressed his weight even more on Stiles, Stiles ready to collapse and let himself be pinned. But not yet. Derek had yet to acknowledge what Stiles wanted. With his hips moving, it didn’t take long. Firmly a hand pressed back against his ass. Stiles arched his back, thrusting against the open palm. Derek’s fingers trailed over his soft skin, tapping it gently.

“I see,” Derek murmured. “You want to be punished, is that it?”

Finally. “Took you forever to get it,” Stiles snapped at him. His body twisted as Derek grabbed his leg, holding it high. Stiles squirmed, trying to look back at Derek who merely waited until he was ready, holding the ankle still.

A kiss against his ankle was all Stiles needed to realize Derek wasn’t going to play his game. Voicing confirmation, Derek spoke. “It’s not a real punishment if you want it, Stiles,” Derek murmured, lips still pressing along the inside of Stiles’s leg. Knowing what was coming, Stiles wiggled, but Derek continued pressing kisses all along his leg, stopping at the hollow of his knee.

Stiles threw his head back onto the pillow. The wolf took his sweet time, making sure every kiss left a dark mark, one that would probably last for weeks. Stiles tried to rock onto the mattress, but Derek kept him hauled up, nipping occasionally. Never sure when his mouth would nip, bite, or suckle, Stiles whined, needing to feel something on his cock.

Derek moved upwards, finally setting Stiles down. Wetness pressed against his stomach, a wet spot on the blanket from all his precome earlier. His gut tightened at the feel of it.

Now Derek would take care of him. Derek never took his time when Stiles was this needy. Stiles spread his legs out and relaxed.

Something pressed against him, wet, strong, and Stiles jumped. That was _not_ a finger.

Hands grabbed his ass and spread it apart. The delicate, fluttering kisses moved against his taint, Derek’s nose touching Stiles’s entrance. As Derek’s mouth moved upwards, heat festered inside of him, something tingling from his skin to his gut. Stiles bunched the sheets in his white fingers, desperately trying not to let out a sound.

Useless. A wail exploded from his mouth, loud enough he was sure Laura heard it from her war meeting. Derek merely lapped behind him, a chuckle sticking in his throat. “Good?” he said, and dove back to sucking and tracing the outside ring of muscle.

Stiles’s cock leaked onto the bed, his hips jutting to try and gain more of that sweet friction he needed to send himself over to the edge. Derek teased him in the best way, his tongue darting here and there, strangely hard as it circled around his rim.

“Please, Derek,” Stiles panted, his mind hazy. Spit escaped his mouth, Stiles too enraptured with Derek’s soft muscle behind him to swallow. Derek hummed, a delicious vibration that went deep into Stiles’s balls, and the human cried out, hands uselessly tugging at the sheets.

Heaving, Stiles let out another cry, too much pleasure crashing through him. “Please, please, please,” he panted out with each breath, and Derek squeezed each cheek in hand, his nose resting in the cleft of Stiles’s ass.

His tongue darted inside, and Stiles’s back arched as he keened. Oh, holy gods, Derek’s tongue massaged his insides, licking and sucking as Stiles’s hole tightened. He wouldn’t last much longer now.

“Derek, please, please, I need to come, Derek,” Stiles chanted, hoping some of it might catch Derek’s ears. “A-ah, Derek, please, touch me, gods, Derek, please.”

Hot breath puffed against his ass, mixing with the sweat already sliding downward. Or maybe that was Derek’s spit, he couldn’t tell. Stiles felt so wet, like his hole was dripping like a fountain with spit and sweat, ready to be fucked. “I need you, Derek, please, let me touch myself,” Stiles whimpered. “Or just fuck me already, I need your cock in my ass, Derek, I need you to fill me up, please-“

Derek squeezed his ass cheeks, placing a kiss on his left one. “Alright,” he murmured, and Stiles’s body sagged in relief. Finally he’d be able to come.

Hearing a squick made Stiles shudder, knowing Derek was placing his fingers in the goop. The human tried to use the moment to calm himself, to back away from the orgasm that wouldn’t take long to coax from him. Derek probably needed to be in him as much as he needed Derek.

An idea presented itself, and Stiles’s breathing evened as he thought about how to execute it. Cold hands touched his ass and Stiles jumped up, moving away from Derek’s hands. He turned around, facing Derek and pulled himself into a sit.

“Cold.” Stiles grumbled, and Derek pouted.

“You were needy.” Even Derek didn’t seem to believe the excuse, his face sheepish.

“I swear to god, one day, I’m going to shove cold things in your ass,”Stiles warned, “And see how you like it.” Derek blushed, his reaction saying enough. Stiles’s anger turned to astonishment. “Oh. I see.”

Rubbing the lube in his hands, the lord still didn’t make eye contact. “I thought… maybe you might, also,” he mumbled as an excuse, and Stiles sighed.

“Nope,” he assured Derek, crawling over and helping himself to the lube. “But there’s something else I’d like to try.” The lube felt cold indeed as he lubed up his fingers, running them up and down Derek’s cock. He pushed Derek to the bed, and Derek fell back with no resistance, eying as Stiles stalked over him.

“I think you’ve prepared me enough-“

“No, Stiles-“ Derek’s voice cut off as Stiles sank down, guiding Derek’s cock into his hole. Maybe he’d been fingering himself a little in the bath, before Derek returned. Maybe he wanted this to happen as soon as possible tonight.

He bit his lip, trying not to focus on the full feeling. It felt like Derek had stuffed Stiles up to his throat, pressing against that place inside him that made him see white. Stiles shifted his hips, letting out a moan as Derek’s cock teased that spot, not enough friction between them. It had been just enough lube to feel good. Sure, Stiles might be walking funny for days-

Derek thrust his hips up forcing Stiles to let out a groan again. “Derek,” he breathed, looking down at the wolf. Blue, hooded eyes looked back at him, mesmerizing the human as Derek’s hands grabbed his hips. The row of marks still lay on Derek’s collarbone, and Stiles’s cock twitched at the sight. “Ok. Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Beautiful,” Derek murmured, and Stiles’s gut seared at that thought. Derek groaned as Stiles tightened around him. “Stiles. Move,” the wolf begged.

Stiles grinned, grinding his hips in a circle. Claws sank into his skin as Derek jerked forward, a broken sound forcing itself from his throat. Stiles let out a cry- the claws hurt just enough to feel good, little pinpricks going straight to his cock.

“Derek,” Stiles murmured, breathing heavily. He leaned forward, close enough to taste Derek’s breath on his lips. Derek groaned, eyes looking at him under long lashes, unable to form words. Good. They were on the same page then.

Stiles planted kisses along Derek’s jaw, shallowly thrusting on Derek’s cock. Derek groaned, his hips trying to gain something deeper, something less maddening than whatever Stiles was doing. Stiles liked the maddening edge, the taste of what was to come. He broke away from Derek, panting. “It’s gonna be soon for me,” he uttered, and Derek nodded, swallowing, his claws retracting back into fingers.

Stiles sat up again, this time lifting himself up, almost loosing the tip of Derek’s cock. He caught himself just in time, and sank back down, letting gravity help him.

Too full. Stiles gave a soundless scream as he speared himself on that monster cock, the head mercilessly pressing against his prostate in the best of ways. He lifted himself up again, needing more of that pleasure, his hands pressing against Derek’s abs for more leverage. He fell back down, this time letting out a howl.

On the fifth impalement he came hard enough to cover Derek’s chin in seed. Warm, hot liquid spilled inside him, a reminder that Derek had also found his edge, probably at the same time, even.

They breathed together, not one moving, Stiles affectionately kissing Derek’s jaw as Derek remained inside of him. When he closed his eyes and rested his head on Derek’s chest, Derek had yet to pull out.

 

***

 

Someone shook Stiles awake, and bleary-eyed Stiles opened his eyes. Derek hovered over him, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth. Stiles opened up, eagerly giving Derek access. Stiles pulled him back into the bed, their tongues meeting and Derek’s fingers gripping his hair tightly.

Derek pulled away far too quickly. “I have to go,” Derek murmured. “You need to get to work.”

Stiles groaned, kicking the sheets off. The wolf stiffened as his eyes trailed over Stiles’s body, looking him up and down. Stiles grinned, spreading out a little on the bed. “Marked enough for you?” he asked playfully.

“For now,” Derek admitted, swallowing. Stiles dragged a hand lower, to his morning erection, and Derek swatted it away. “You. Work. Me. Away.”

If Derek hadn’t looked so pained at saying those words while staring at Stiles’s dick, Stiles might have suggested staying in bed longer. Instead, he pulled Derek in for another kiss before they dressed.

They left the room together.

Stiles might have smacked Derek’s ass playfully in the hallway as they separated.

 

***

 

The loss of Derek was made somewhat better with the fact that Scott still remained with Stiles. With Scott home, Stiles could cope. He could deal with Harris calling him a whore. He could deal with the angry eyes that darted at him in the hallway.

A couple slaves had seen his physical display of affection and the rumors spread like wildfire, finally having some form of confirmation. Stiles was either some seductive mastermind (a clear sign nobody in the rumor mill knew him at all), or some local, unthreatening toy Derek would mess with, not bright enough to understand anything (again, nobody in the rumor mill knew him at all).

Despite the rumors about his love life, nobody heard about the battles taking place. Where there should have been updates on fighting, wounded, and dead, gossip lay, useless things like Harris’s rejection (Greenberg had been so surprised when Harris admitted his feelings), how many calves had been born in the winter, and how Finstock did not actually know how to repair the window on the rooftop. Nothing important at all.

Lack of useful information took its toll on Laura, currently chewing out the latest server. He came back in tears, right as Stiles explained to Keaton that _no, he didn’t bottom, and what was bottoming anyway,_ and Harris grabbed Stiles’s shoulder, squeezing it with far too much enthusiasm.

“You’re serving the Alpha,” Harris hissed gleefully. Wine spilled onto Stiles’s shirt as Harris jammed a pitcher into his chest. When Stiles stepped out into the dining area, Laura had her head in her hands, Danielle giving her the latest useful information, which was only about seeds and stock and more food storage than expected.

A trusted _servant_ , Stiles remembered, wondering if one day he’d be like her.  Stiles blushed as Danielle gave him a knowing smile, winking at him. Stiles turned to his pitcher. Clearly she was a mind reader.

Abruptly, Laura stood, her eyes at the door. Everyone turned to look at it, though the wolves started murmuring between themselves. “A soldier,” one uttered. “From a battle?”

The door flung open and a solider- Isaac, Stiles remembered, flung to Laura’s feet. “Good and Bad news, Alpha,” Isaac reported. Knowing she would want the news right away, Isaac continued, not even bothering to wait for her response. “The battle was won, Cora saved.”

Stiles held his breath. “The town was lost to both sides,” Isaac informed her, and the excitement of the room dwindled away, the energy seeping out. “But the Argents have been pushed back. Gerard has been killed,” Isaac informed. “Most of the townspeople survived. They’re being escorted here now. They’ll arrive within the evening.”

His father. Stiles took a breath. Surely his father would be with them, and if the town lost but his father not, it was worth it.

Laura still remained tense, her hands clutching her chair. “My brother?” She asked. Her voice had all the appearance of aloofness, but Stiles knew better. For once, he and the Alpha were thinking as one, and he only heard the tremor in her voice because he felt it in his bones.

“We have yet to find him, Alpha,” Isaac reported softly. “He is among the missing.”

Everything went numb. One of the slaves reached to grab his pitcher as he went slack, trying to hold himself up.

“Sound the bells,” Laura commanded, standing up. “All slaves inside their quarters. Only guards and paid servants are allowed out and about.” She casually tossed her chair aside. “Thank you, guard. Walk with me, tell me what numbers I should expect.”

The other wolves followed her out, and Stiles wondered how she could possibly function. Keaton grabbed his arm, but Stiles shook his head. “I’m fine,” he assured the man. “I’m totally fine.” He took a deep breath. If Laura could do it, so could he.

The loudest bell Stiles had ever heard rang out, echoing through everyone’s bones. Some of the slaves looked up, unsure, but Stiles knew what it meant. Finstock had muttered about the bell on their way here. It was the emergency bell, and all slaves were to go back to their places and wait.

“Guess you’ve lost your privilege,” Harris jabbed at Stiles as he made his way towards the door. Stiles could only stare at him blankly before a hand grabbed him and pulled him away to safety, ensuring he’d arrive at the wing before it closed.

 

***

 

All the slaves waited tensely in their room. The only one who’d been allowed out was Scott, who’d been helping Deaton this whole time. Stiles supposed they needed more help. Nobody was sure of how much time had passed, and Stiles was the one with the most information, which wasn’t much. A couple of wolves played cards, while Stiles sat blankly on his bed, tracing the key through his mattress.

Derek was missing.

 _Derek is dead_ , Stiles told himself. _Let’s not hope here_.

Two slaves were discussing the logistics of holding an entire town in the palace. Had they enough rooms? Enough food? “There must not be many,” Jackson told the wolves. “Or they’re so unsure of their position they’re hauling them back here for reinforcement.”

Stiles pawed at the key through his mattress, trying to calm his nerves. Jackson told him to stop a couple times, but Stiles refused, thinking over what might have happened. The Argents might have burned the place, or the Hales grew so violent they tore down houses.

The other men from Beacon Hills also pondered this. Stiles knew mostly because Greenberg was muttering things like, “What happened? How is it gone?”

Finally, a knock at the door sounded, and Erica entered the room. Her stance alone sent the message that there were not to be any questions, and she held up a hand. “We need help serving those from Beacon Hills,” she began. “Alpha Hale has requested that those who originally came from Beacon Hills help. In exchange, you are welcome to spend time with the refugees tonight.”

The mood lightened considerably, but Erica continued. “Those who came today will not be slaves,” she began, “But those who were captured earlier will remain as such.”

Ah. No wonder they were keeping tabs on the slaves; they wanted to ensure that nobody ran. Stiles jumped down. “Sounds good to me,” he uttered, ready to go.

“Only because you’ve got a sweet life here,” Jackson bit, and Erica’s gaze flickered from pity to stone.

“We don’t have to take everyone,” she stated curtly. Jackson paled, probably close to begging for a chance to go. Erica reveled in his silence, finally nodding her allowance.

Silently, the slaves lined up and Erica led them to the Great Hall. Stiles noted a few other slave groups not from Beacon Hills also being lead towards the refugees. The Beacon Hills troupe was small- like family- so they would probably be well watched.

When Stiles entered the room he noted the lunchbox system at work, but some of the refugees didn’t look like they could get up. Some looked burned, broken. Possibly many were sick from the journey, or the smoke inhalation, judging from the burns.  Stiles scanned faces, but didn’t see his father. His heart wrenched.

Stiles looked back at the group, watching their shocked faces as nobody moved, too caught up in seeing most of their friends and family laid out before them.

“Jackson,” Stiles began, “You go ahead and give those boxes to those that can’t get up. You’ve got a keen sense of smell- you’ll be able to remember who you’ve given to and who you haven’t.”

Jackson nodded, grabbing lunch boxes. “Danny,” Stiles added, “You help him.” Danny followed suit, grabbing as many boxes as he could carry.

The other groups started arriving, crowding around Stiles as he barked orders to them. Slaves came back, reporting on what they heard. All people from the town had escaped, but some were going to succumb to their wounds. Some already had.

Quickly enough the food was sorted, Erica giving him a glance of approval. “Good job,” she uttered. “Look, you’ve got about an hour left before we’ll round everyone up. Go look for someone, yeah?”

Stiles didn’t need to be told twice. His eyes darted from face to face, not seeing anyone he _wanted_ , there was the stupid blacksmith-

Melissa. Stiles’s eyes noted her form, kneeling over a victim. Scott yelled at a guard beside her. Hope welled in Stiles’s chest as he started running. She would know what happened to his father.

Stiles arrived, breathless, and the guard turned to him. “They aren’t pack,” the guard whimpered, wanting help.

Scott’s eyes glowed yellow, hints of red bleeding through. “They’re allies, and that’s like pack!” Scott shouted. “You need to do the right thing! I _know_ Deaton doesn’t have any more wolves to heal!”

Melissa grabbed Scott’s arm. “Scott, honey,” she said softly. Scott turned to his mother, eyes filled with tears. Stiles knew, too. The woman before Melissa had just passed on. The guard awkwardly shuffled away in the quiet.

Melissa’s sigh broke him out of his thoughts. She sank back onto her feet, clearly too tired to continue.  “They’re too many,” she uttered, and Scott knelt beside her, grabbing her arm. Stiles walked up and Scott glanced up at him, gaze softening as he recognized the other slave.

“Stiles,” he said surprised, and Stiles nodded, feet slowing. Melissa’s eyes had shut at his name.

“Uh, hey,” Stiles said softly, fear thundering through his chest. She’d closed her eyes. A bad sign.  “We all got called out to serve food. You guys get any yet?” He took another cautious step, afraid the ground beneath him was going to break.

Tears escaped Melissa’s tightly shut eyes, following tracks of several before them. Stiles tried to swallow a lump in his throat. Maybe she was stressed. Fleeing a home had to be stressful, right?

“They… The Argents burned the town,” Scott informed him, and Stiles looked around. Most of the town was there. “Everyone… everyone got out, though...”

Hope sprang in Stiles’s chest. “Oh, good,” he uttered, his voice breaking. “That’s awesome. We can rebuild and stuff, right?”

Melissa broke into a sob, dragging herself to her feet, her eyes watery and face red. Stiles stood painfully still as she wrapped her arms around him, hugging far too tightly. Stiles felt his own tears spill, something in his chest snapping. He could feel Melissa’s pain as if it were his own, and Stiles had a good feeling it would soon be his own anyway. “You’re alive,” she uttered, voice shaking. “We thought you’d been _killed_.”

Melissa pulled away from the hug, her pained eyes taking in Stiles’s own carefully. Stiles had been well fed. He’d been taken care of, not bruised, beaten, or anything feared. Stiles still spilled tears, unable to hear anything but her voice. Scott’s head whipped around in the corner of his eye, but Stiles focused on Melissa, her face grief-stricken, as he explained his life to her.

But he couldn’t hold the question back forever. “Melissa,” Stiles whispered lowly, his voice breaking with the question, “Where’s my dad?”

Melissa shut her eyes again.

It was answer enough. Stiles knew what she wanted to say. He knew before fresh tears fell from her eyes, before she spoke whatever words that would not reach his ears.

He knew.

The world shattered beneath him. He’d lost his father _and_ Derek on the same day.

He wrapped himself around her, then, the closest figure he had to a mom, the only semblance of family he had left. At the moment he couldn’t feel his emotions. He could only bawl, trying to take enough breaths so he could stand. Scott held him up, trying to separate him from Melissa but Stiles wouldn’t let go.

His grip never lessened until a familiar scent reached his nose.

Dropping his hands, Stiles blinked, trembling as he recognized the form that walked before him. “You’re alive,” he hiccupped, new tears threatening to spill. Melissa stood at Scott’s side, trying to figure out what was happening, but she looked like she approved.

Derek reached for him, closing the distance between them with a giant bear hug. Stiles pressed against him, burying his face in Derek’s chest. He was bloody and smoky and a little burned (a lot burned), but he was alive.

Derek _lived_. He breathed, his heart beat underneath his skin, and Stiles could feel the wolf’s warm flesh underneath him, an eternal assurance to Derek’s existence. “I didn’t lose you too,” he uttered, and Derek shushed him, cradled him. The loss of his father weighed on him, but Stiles could not imagine what he would have done if he’d lost Derek, too. He remembered the numbness as he waited, expecting the worst. He meant to say more words, but only broken hiccups came out, and the world still felt shattered, like the world raged on in a storm and Derek was his only anchor.

“I got lost, took shelter in your basement as the town burned,” Derek told him. “I left the next day with what of our soldiers remained.”

None of that reached Stiles’s mind. Instead, just the sound of his voice was enough, and Stiles let out a last sob. Derek’s voice was deep, rumbling, comforting, and Stiles stopped sobbing long enough to hear, hands trying to squeeze whatever security he could from the giant hunk of a man. “Deaton’s sending the herbs with Isaac,” Derek informed Scott, probably well aware Stiles wasn’t in a state to think or understand words. “They’re just double-checking to make sure the herbs aren’t poisonous to humans.”

Stiles didn’t see Scott’s reaction, too busy trying to breathe against Derek’s skin, hands gripping the folds of Derek’s clothing tightly. _Derek’s back_ , Stiles thought, forcing himself to think positively. At least _Derek came back._

It felt like a piece of driftwood in the ocean- not enough to make the situation better, but survivable.

“I’m… I’m going to take him,” Derek mentioned, clearly asking permission. Someone must have given it to him, hell, Stiles might have given it to him. They started moving, Stiles glad someone was taking him away, even if they were awkwardly lifting him upwards because Stiles had forgotten how to walk.

Another woman wailed in the far corner, setting Stiles’s sobs off again. The sound reverberated in his own soul, mind recognizing the grief.

They walked softly to Derek’s room, Stiles in Derek’s arms, not bothering to complain about being carried. Tears flowed though his wails had stopped, a pleasant numbness going through him. Derek opened the door soundlessly, kicking it shut and walked him to the bed in the dark.

The wolf sat him down on the bed, kneeling at Stiles’s side. Stiles sniffled, wiping snot from his nose. “Thank you,” he hiccupped between breaths. Derek’s face echoed his: eyes wet with tears, face pained. There were burns along the side, slight, and Stiles wondered if the wolf would be able to heal those.

The lord shook his head. “I… I found out about your father,” he uttered, not making eye contact. “I’m sorry.”

Stiles felt fresh hot tears. He needed the details. . “What happened?”

Derek took a breath, hand closing around something. “Cora’s troops were trapped in the city. Kate had rigged it full of mountain ash, so they couldn’t escape, and then she set fire to the town. We managed to rescue them with those tunnels you mentioned,” Derek told him. “They allowed us to bypass the mountain ash and fire. Everyone ran, but I didn’t see your father. I ran to your house, thinking maybe he was invalid- and I heard Chris yelling at Kate, taking their supplies.”

Cold metal made its way to Stiles’s hand. Stiles wrapped his fingers around his father’s badge and Derek’s fingers. A quiet numbness weighed down on his chest.

“Kate killed your father two days after you were missing,” he said quietly, and Stiles shook. Derek sat next to him, face guilty.

“Thank you, Derek,” Stiles told him, knowing to say it now, before his mind swept up in Kate. She had promised. She had written him a letter, a reminder. It was a _promise_.

One she never intended to keep.

Stiles wondered if she had even expected him to release her family. “She promised,” Stiles uttered, hot drops of liquid falling from his eyes to the badge. “She promised.”

Derek held him tightly and Stiles sobbed, knowing Derek was the only person in the world who could probably understand how he felt. Derek rocked him back and forth, cradling Stiles until he fell asleep, tears still falling from his eyes.

 

***

 

When he awoke the world seemed subdued. Derek was sleeping next to him, burns healing slowly but still visibly. Stiles felt relieved at that. At least Derek wouldn’t suffer too much from Stiles’s stupidity. His hands traced the badge still clutched in his hand. It was warped from the fire, but Stiles could still feel some part of his father inside it.

At the movement, Derek reached over and held the human’s side in comfort. Stiles smiled, the word somehow brightening. Derek’s eyes opened. “Hey,” Stiles murmured. “Tell me something good this morning. I’d like to start of the day with something great.”

Derek squeezed him tighter. “Thanks to you, we could rescue Cora,” he answered. Stiles blinked, realizing what the implications of that were. Never had he dreamed he could be so useful. “Since you told me about the tunnels. So, Laura will probably review your slavery within the next five years if not sooner, and give you your freedom.”

Stiles thought about that, his freedom, and the badge felt heavy in his hand. “What would I do with freedom now?” He wondered aloud, and Derek held him tightly.

“You bury,” He started, experience in his voice. “Then you do little things, one at a time, until you can manage.” He looked solemn, but the advice seemed solid, comforting, some sort of structure that Stiles wanted to follow.

“Sounds like a plan,” Stiles admitted, his eyes closing again. “What will you do with the refugees?”

Derek sighed. “They’ll move on today. We’re sending them further in, towards the coast. The Martin family has agreed to take them in.” He dragged Stiles closer to his chest. “If you need anything today,” Derek added, “Send me word. I’ll come to you immediately.”

Stiles snuggled against him, placing a small, quick peck on Derek’s lips. “I will,” he replied. There wasn’t any point in lying- he wouldn’t be okay. Still, Derek held him, not complaining when Stiles didn’t hug back, not complaining when Stiles went into the bath by himself, never commenting the sobs Stiles released in the bath. Derek didn’t judge, let him do things as he wanted, and Stiles was glad for it.

 

***

 

Stiles attempted to work but halfway through the day under Harris’s yells and quips, he called for Derek and found himself whisked away into Derek’s room, the guard assuring Derek would be there shortly. Stiles fell back onto Derek’s bed, shutting his eyes.

When he opened them again, Derek was speaking with someone lowly, apologizing for something. Stiles sat up, and the woman looked over at him. She looked like Derek and Laura- probably his sister Cora. Derek looked over as well, still talking, but Stiles couldn’t make it out. Nor did he care. The woman nodded, left, and Derek closed the door behind her, turning back to Stiles. “How’re you doing?” he asked softly.

“Didn’t want to deal with Harris,” Stiles uttered. “Just… Just wanted some space.”

Derek snorted. “Harris. He’s been here _fifteen_ years,” Derek muttered. “He keeps fucking up, so Laura keeps sending him to the worst jobs. Mother always told Laura to never let him go, that he’d be a drain on society if he got free.”

Stiles smirked a little at that, Derek walking over to him on the bed. “Better than being a wolfwhore,” Stiles muttered darkly, and Derek sat beside him in a second.

“He called you that?” The lord’s voice was cold and tight, trembling with anger. Funny how closely Derek controlled his face when his voice gave everything away.

Stiles stared darkly at a wrinkle in the blanket. “Lots of people do,” he uttered. “Don’t… I know you want to kill them,” he started, “and but it doesn’t bother me. I know you aren’t like that.” He paused, trying to find the words. Mentally he could think them, but they wouldn’t come out of his mouth.

“But today isn’t most days,” Derek supplied. “You’re already hurt.”

Stiles nodded, glad Derek understood. Derek wrapped him in a big hug, swinging his leg around Stiles’s back, forcing Stiles into his lap. “You humans,” he muttered, “Always wanting to go back and power through things. You all face things head-on, never stopping. Wolves, we stay low when we’re hurt, when we’re hunted. We wait for it to pass us by.” He kissed Stiles’s temple. “Even the strong wolves sometimes stay away for a while,” Derek told him.

It made Stiles feel a little better, knowing Derek probably also retreated to his room. “But if I didn’t have you, I’d be a normal slave.”

Derek thought, weighing Stiles’s words. “It’s true you’re favored,” Derek allowed, his hands wrapping around Stiles. “I can’t… I can’t help that. It’s my fault, wanting you to be as equal as possible, like servants of old.” Stiles rested his head against Derek’s neck, feeling the wolf’s jaw move as he continued, addicted to hearing the rumble of Derek’s voice in his chest. “But if you didn’t have me, this, they wouldn’t be jealous of you. You’d have your friends, have Scott, your pack,” Derek uttered.

“Don’t have a pack,” Stiles replied, but as the words left his mouth he could _feel_ the lie.

“Your whole room is a pack,” Derek informed him. “Even some of our guards are more loyal to Scott than us. As it should be, really. We’re too many wolves together, trying to draw strength in numbers to keep the hunters away.”

Stiles filed this away. “Servants of old?”

Derek nuzzled him. “Hundreds of years ago, our pack was strong in number. We didn’t have to stay huddled together like a rabbit warren. We roamed freely. With each werewolf we could hire servants, our equals, to take care of our things when we were gone- our affairs, our finances, our homes. They held power, as did we- equal power, though different.

“Then a the darkness came, a darach, killing our servants. She struck at them, knowing our power would be weak. Without our economy, society, our raw power was meaningless. Instead of killing the people supporting the darach, we enslaved them, replacing our servants in return for letting them live.”

Derek took in a breath. “Mother… she had passed new rules, hoping to phase out slavery. We’d had a couple of good slaves that became our servants, all trustworthy- you know Danielle? But when the Argents came, Laura was Alpha, and she and Peter thought it would be best to have slaves here, a workforce we could have without loosing much of our budget.”

Stiles sat quietly, piling the new information away in his mind. “So after the war…”

“Hopefully, they’ll continue putting in place the revisions my mother wanted. If she doesn’t, Cora might split from the family.” Derek held him tightly, as if _he_ needed to be comforted, not Stiles. “Shit,” he murmured. “I don’t think I’ve said that much to anyone before.”

Stiles laughed though it sounded weak. “I like your voice,” he murmured. “You should tell me other stories.”

Derek huffed, placing a kiss on Stiles’s neck. “I tell you terrible secrets about my family and all you get is that you like my voice?”

Stiles nodded. “Maybe more than your bath,” he joked, but the words were still heavy with sad.

Derek gave him another kiss. “Well, then. That’s serious.” He breathed in, changing the subject to grant Stiles’s wish. “Have you ever heard about how the Sambra festival started? There were two lovers, both women from the old tribes, in the old times…”

 

***

 

Breakfast was on the table the next morning, ready when Stiles opened his eyes. He turned over on the bed, expecting to find Derek beside him, but the wolf was nowhere to be seen. Stiles frowned, reaching over to the disturbed covers, finding them cold.

Stiles looked over at the breakfast, groaning. If it was here, it meant he’d missed work- again. Inwardly he knew he needed to stop using Derek as an excuse for not doing his work. It would bite him in the ass later. Yet he couldn’t find it in himself to stop, enjoying being spoiled and a favorite of the prince.

These thoughts were too heavy for the bleary morning, Stiles decided, rolling over onto his stomach. Hungrily he inhaled Derek’s scent through the pillow, musky and sweaty and rich. Stiles sighed, pretending he was back in Derek’s arms, closing his eyes.

The bed dipped next to him, a warm and flushed body settling on top of Stiles. Derek nuzzled his neck, planting soft kisses along its length. “Morning,” he breathed, continuing to kiss down Stiles’s shoulder blades. Drops of water fell onto his back. Derek had come from the bath.

Morning sex, Stiles thought, and the idea didn’t entirely displease him. Derek was always physically affectionate in the morning. A hunger lingered beneath the surface of Stiles’s skin, craving the touch of another person, another soul.

“Stay here today,” Derek offered.

It was a tempting offer. Stiles didn’t feel like moving, and Derek was warm. Even strong wolves hid when they were hurt, he reminded himself. Derek nuzzled him, making Stiles wonder if he’d said the words out loud. “You’ll forgive me?” Stiles asked softly.

“What is there to forgive?” Derek asked him, stopping the kisses. “That you loved your father?”

Stiles reached up and squeezed his hand. “You’re too good to me,” he mumbled, and Derek kissed away his reservations about spending the day in bed.

 

***

 

Later that day Derek had to leave- something about preparing the refugees for departure. Stiles was still flopping around in the mattress when the doors swung open. “Derek,” came the voice, and Stiles jumped out of bed, falling to the floor.

Laura.

“What are you still doing here?” Laura asked, incredulous. “Where is my brother?” Her assistant coughed, and Stiles remembered he was still naked. Oh well. This wasn’t the first time he’d been naked in front of Derek’s sister. Stiles frowned at that thought. That truth seemed just a little awkward. He adjusted himself, hoping not to offend the Alpha with his… penis.

This would be an amusing story later, but right now it sucked.

“Alpha Hale,” Stiles greeted. “I, uh, Derek- Lord Hale,” he corrected himself, trying to breathe, “he is currently going over refugee transportation with Guard Lahey and Healer Deaton.” Stiles took a breath. “I…I…”

Danielle whispered something to Laura, and Laura took a step closer to him. “You’re from Beacon Hills, aren’t you? We gave all slaves time to be with their loved ones before they leave.” Laura tilted her head. “Are you so attached to my brother-“

Tears spilled on the floor beneath him. Stiles didn’t even know he felt sad, until felt them escape his eyes.

“I thought everyone escaped,” Laura spoke, a little softer this time. “I’m sorry.”

Stiles took a breath, trying to find his voice. Another breath. He could do this. “He… He died… before.” He could speak no more.

“After you came here?” Laura asked, tone still soft. It wasn’t pity, though, and that was enough to make it bearable. 

“Yes, Alpha,” Stiles replied, his arms shaking. He could feel her eyes judging him.

The Alpha contemplated, looking him over again. “No wonder Derek encouraged you to stay,” she murmured. “However, I have to override his orders.” Her eyes flashed red, and Stiles brought his eyes back to the ground. “The refugees are leaving soon. All slaves are to be back in their rooms so they can be accounted for.” Laura paused. “If, after tonight, all goes well, you are welcome to stay in my brother’s room so long as he is here, and has invited you. But for now, you must get back to your quarters.”

Stiles nodded, insides going cold. He didn’t want to go back there. He wanted to be here, to escape that life waiting him here.

Terror gripped him. He’d forgotten Laura was the ultimate authority, that she could do what she pleased. He wasn’t free. He was never free. No matter what Derek said, Laura would always be queen.

Laura turned and left, not bothering to say goodbye, because after all, Stiles was a slave. Danielle gave him a little wave, and Stiles returned it unenthusiastically.

 

***

 

The whole room was tense as they waited for the doors to open and let them out. It felt unsettling, knowing their family and friends would be free, and they were not. Jackson seemed particularly troubled, but Stiles didn’t know what. Jackson merely mumbled something about “last night” and that was the end of it.

Scott paced, upset about something. When Stiles tried to ask, Scott would shake him off, so that was a failure. Stiles played cards with Danny and Greenberg until Scott perked up.

“Guards,” he uttered. “ _Twenty_ of them.”

All the men in the room paled, looking at each other. Stiles looked over at Jackson, who didn’t seem surprised. “What did you do?” Danny asked quietly, his own face horrified. “Jackson, are they coming for _us_?”

The wolf shrugged, though still pale. “Not me,” Jackson replied. “ _I_ found the key.”

“The key,” Stiles repeated, face going white as a sheet. His stomach clenched as he sat back, panic threatening to take him over. Scott roared at Jackson, rushing to help Stiles. “You told… you told Laura,” he pieced together. “That’s why everyone’s back in their room now. That’s why the refugees are being moved so soon.” He took a couple of deep breaths, feeling his heart pound.

No oxygen made it to his lungs. Worriedly, Danny moved over to him.“Hey,” Danny comforted, “You’re safe, right?”

“That’s right,” Scott told him, sitting next to him as well. “You didn’t do anything. You weren’t here. Derek will keep you safe,” he assured Stiles.

Stiles still squeaked, trying to breathe. The group tensed as the door swung open, revealing Erica in front of twenty guards. Her face was grim.

Boyd gave announcements, something about them lining up, but Stiles couldn’t breathe. Erica walked over, dragging Scott and Danny off of Stiles, smacking his face.

Stiles tasted blood. Did they know already? He met her eyes, and she looked worried for a moment before she hauled him up to his feet. “Erica,” Boyd warned. “Don’t harm him. Derek will have your head.”

Right, Stiles thought, because he was only useful through Derek. He gave a humorless laugh. “Stupid little wolfwhore, it’s always been about Derek,” he murmured to himself. The words steeled him for the rough treatment from the guards who had openly laughed and joked with him earlier. Erica’s eyes flickered in shame, but her cold exterior gave him little to work with.

“The Alpha requests all of you. There’s much to explain,” Boyd told them. “You’ll be tested for lying in front of the Hale family. No one but the guards here will be present to witness your testimonies.” The twenty guards surrounded the ten men.

Scott squeezed Stiles’s hand comfortingly. Stiles looked at him, Peter’s words running through his mind. Scott was an Omega, unwilling to join Derek’s pack. Slaves and Guards were starting to follow Scott. Laura couldn’t deal with a rebellion yet. Probably she and Peter were already plotting on how to be rid of him. If she didn’t find someone to blame for the Argents, she’d blame Scott. Surely he had to know; Scott wasn’t _that_ stupid.

The world bled of color as they entered the chamber. All four thrones were filled, Derek pointedly white as a sheet, not looking at Stiles. Cora was, though not meanly, more out of curiosity. Laura and Peter were focused on Scott.

Scott stood calmly, knowing he wasn’t to blame. Stiles was not nearly so sure his best friend would be cast innocent. There was a precedent of wolves who could control their heartbeats. Surely Laura and Peter would find a way to blame him.

“Wolves in a circle,” Deaton began, and Scott fell away, standing with the other wolves as Deaton pulled a ring of mountain ash around them. Wolves guarded the three remaining humans. Clearly they were a threat that did not need to be contained. Their strength was no match for twenty angry guards, two pack betas, one Second, and one Alpha.

 _What a collection of wolves_ , Stiles thought to himself as Laura stood. _Long speech time._

“We have found the key used the traitor who released the Argents,” Laura explained coldly and simply. The weight of the words fell on all of them, Danny shuffling. Greenberg looked like he would faint. Stiles felt like he would faint. He looked pitifully at Scott, who still stood strong, his eyes level with Laura’s.

She challenged him back, eyes never leaving him.

Scott was dead.

“Scott McCall. This is your key. You suspiciously found the trail of the Argents when none of our guard could. We’ve found affectionate notes from you to Allison Argent. Along with your unwillingness to join in our pack, how easily you influence others, and the fact that you left the run early, your actions are highly suspicious.”

Scott growled. “I left the run to see Stiles!” The slave squeezed his hand into a fist. “He was scared, it was his first celebration here! How many times do I have to tell you?”

Stiles’s eyes felt wide, his skin suddenly cold. “Oh, no, Scott,” he whispered to himself, unsure if the ground would shatter if he took a step. His legs were numb, unmoving. Yet he trembled all over.

“Was someone working with you, Scott?” She asked him, clearly uninterested in his explanations.

Stiles opened his mouth. “You’re working on completely circumstantial evidence!” he yelled, his chest heaving. Scott turned to face him in surprise, his eyes pleading with him to be silent. The alpha looked shocked, probably never challenged by a beta, let alone a human. Even being Derek’s favorite wouldn’t save him from her wrath.

Despite the agony it would be, Stiles wouldn’t let them hurt Scott. “I refuse to let you blame him when he didn’t do it,” Stiles replied, stepping forward. None of the guards stopped him. Even Peter’s mouth hung slightly open.

Stiles leveled his eyes on Laura’s red ones in challenge. Peter rubbed his forehead. “Protective of his pack,” he said, as if reminding himself as he stood, taking his place as Laura’s second. “All evidence points to that omega,” he clarified loudly, letting the men before the stage hear his words.

“Stiles!” Scott called out, straining against the mountain ash. “Stiles, don’t _challenge_ -“

“Dead anyway, Scott,” Stiles said softly. Scott pounded against the invisible barrier. Peter’s head shot up in sudden understanding, eyes blazing in fury. Laura took a little longer, and Stiles spoke slowly, waiting for her to hear the truth.

“When _I_ freed the Argents, I worked alone.”

The world fell silent.

Laura’s mouth fell into a tight line. Peter tightened his fist, his eyes bleeding blue. Cora leaned forward in her chair, taking a glance at Derek. She whispered something Stiles couldn’t hear.

Stiles continued, everything tumbling from his mouth icing on the cake. “Derek can attest to this: Since I arrived, I wandered the halls, looking for the back entrances. He found me on Sambra in this chamber, where I had just come out of the tunnel, instructing the Argents to use the periscope on his throne while I made sure the coast was clear. It wasn’t.”

“Don’t bring my brother into this,” Laura hissed, and Stiles took another step. “How would _you_ have gotten a key to the dungeons?”

“Stole it from Scott during my panic attack,” Stiles admitted freely, raising his arms wide. “It’d been missing for weeks, he just covered by borrowing other keys.”

Scott was pounding against the mountain ash again, fists bleeding. “Stiles, _no, no, no_ , Stiles _stop_ -“

Laura closed her eyes, face pained. When she opened them, she looked at Derek, but Stiles had no idea what she saw there. He couldn’t bear to look at the man.

When she turned back at Stiles, her face was oddly stiff, trying to keep calm. “Slave,” she started, and oh, that _burned_ , it _burned_ inside him, “Your information was valuable to winning our battle. You’ve done us a great service, and have continued to provide us with support. There’s no doubt you love our pack.” Laura hit the word “love” with extra attention and Stiles knew exactly _who_ she was referring to.

It was an out. Laura was giving him an out, despite the twenty guards and six other wolves that had heard his heart beat. All he had to do was give up Scott in order to remain free.

Laura continued, her calm coming in breaths as she continued. “We understand. You love your friend. But Stiles, think. If you try to protect the omega-“

Stiles slammed his foot on the ground, interrupting her. “You have no right to bring Scott into this just because he didn’t want to form in your _pack_ ,” Stiles shot out. “Taking slaves from neutral territories, taking slaves at all, just because your country is weak and needs cheap labor-“

Laura jumped down, eyes blazing. Indignation covered her face. She held her right hand up in the air, all claw. Stiles didn’t flinch, glaring at her, knowing he would be clawed beyond belief.

It was Peter who spoke in his stead. “Laura,” he stated calmly. “He’s protecting his _pack_ ,” he said softly. “Clearly.”

Laura’s eyes narrowed, still red. Her hand fell to her side. Stiles took another step forward, closing the gap between them. “The handle of the key in the dungeon? It’s made of mountain ash. Only a human would be able to free them.” The words hung in the air, the final piece of admission too much for Laura to excuse away.

It didn’t hurt when she hit him. There was a roar, something from Scott. Mountain ash flew through the air as wolves started fighting. Two alpha roars echoed through the room. Stiles felt someone force him up, a guard, one he didn’t know, and Laura turned to the guard. “Throw him in the dungeon,” she roared. “There’s no need for any other evidence, he’s admitted guilt.”

Stiles recognized Scott’s roar this time, something sad and desperate in his voice, but Stiles couldn’t see where he was. The guards were too strong to struggle against. He let himself be dragged down into the dark. The next roar sounded farther away, and yet another guard fell into step behind him.

“True alpha-“ one said, but Stiles couldn’t make it out. Someone opened the cage- the same cage as the Argents- and Stiles was thrown onto the cold, damp stone, now a permanent ornament.

Trembling, he reached up to touch his cheek. When he pulled it away, blood covered his fingertips. Strange. He couldn’t even feel it. Scott roared for him yet again, and Stiles shut his eyes, praying they wouldn’t kill Scott too.

 

***

 

Stiles waited.

No one came to see him. To pass the time, Stiles wondered how angry Derek was. Sometimes he could picture Derek shouting angrily at being betrayed again, at Laura. Probably he’d be dramatic and vow to never love again. Stiles scoffed.

Water bled from the stones.

 

***

 

Stiles waited, eyes adjusted to the dark. He looked around for weapons, string, anything he could use.

The Argents had left nothing behind.

 

***

 

Stiles woke to the cold, damp stone.

Someone had left a glass of water.

There wasn’t any food.

Fuck.

 

***

 

It felt like a month had passed when one of the tunnels lit softy up. Stiles could hear the clank of armor as guards walked down the hall, only two arriving for his fragile human body. They used a cloth as they opened his cage, grabbing his arms harshly, half-carrying him up the tunnel, down one he’d never been in before.

Seriously, they couldn’t be nice for the last moments of his life? Briefly he wondered how he was going to die. Were they going to make it a show? Oil? Burning?

Stiles hoped it would be burning. It would be poetic.

The guards roughly carried him to a door, waiting for something, Stiles didn’t know what. He could hear Laura calling out, making some grand announcement about punishment and a slave’s place. He remembered the two slaves earlier, knowing he’d probably be whipped and beheaded, which would be fun.

He swallowed dryly. No getting out of this now.

The doors opened and light flooded in. The guards pushed him ahead, and Stiles stumbled, squinting as his eyes tried to readjust to the light.

The slaves were all lined up, none of them watching. Laura seemed miffed. Stiles was sure they were supposed to watch. Were the slaves… were they disobeying for _him_?

When he stopped, looking for Scott, the guards grabbed his arms and dragged him forward, silently demanding him to walk towards the block.

The block.

Stiles looked at it, now, closer than he ever wanted to be. It was covered in dried blood, handles thin and strained, the lower sections covered with stains that were probably urine. Stiles murmured a “hello” to it as the guards forced him to take another step.

Laura glared at him, ready to announce his crime. He watched her, raising his eyebrows in curiosity.

“This is what happens when you disrespect the Alpha,” she warned, and Stiles sighed dramatically, his shoulders shrugging. Of course. She wouldn’t kill him yet.

“Be a better Alpha,” he murmured, and the guards slammed his head down over the block, roughly tying his hands down. Stiles watched the crowd, the wolves explaining what he’d said to the humans, watching his words spread like wildfire. Laura bristled, aware of her control over the situation slipping already.

The guards left him, clothing still on, and Stiles turned his head to look at the Hales. Cora looked sick, looking in his direction but not at him, Laura looked angry, and Peter looked somewhat unsettled as well.

Derek held the whip.

Stiles closed his eyes. Of course Derek would have the whip. Of course Laura would make him, or worse yet, of course Derek would ask to be the one to punish Stiles. He’d felt betrayed; of course he wanted an excuse to beat the shit out of Stiles.

Stiles couldn’t blame him. Though he wasn’t sure if he could do the same, he couldn’t blame Derek, meeting Derek’s fury with his own calm understanding, inhaling a shaky breath. _A real punishment_ , he thought to himself. Derek’s eyes flashed as his form changed, only slightly, and for the first time, Stiles was afraid.

Derek was going to kill him, he knew, felt it deep in his bones. Maybe Derek would be doing him a favor, by killing him before his execution. What were they waiting for, anyway. He kept his eyes on Derek, hand tight on the whip, eyes cast at Laura as she nodded. Derek took a step forward and Stiles closed his eyes.

He was very afraid.

Footsteps that he’d never hear if he were with his group sounded on the stage steps, drawing closer to his position. Clothing ruffled behind him, and Stiles braced himself. Derek held the whip tightly, probably drawing it up-

Pain seared into his back. Stiles bit his lip, trying not to cry. White heat burned, and he tried to claw at it, tried to break free of the restraints. Like the hundreds of slaves before him, he didn’t make it.

Another hit. Stiles twitched, still trying not to cry. He kept still, trying not to focus on the liquid dripping down his back or the scent of blood in the air. His back screamed at him.

At the fifth whip, Stiles was screaming.

At the tenth, his back was in agony. The whip hit something hard on his side, and Stiles felt quite sure Derek had hit bone.

At the fifteenth stroke, Stiles desperately tried to claw his way off the block, rubbing his wrists raw as the restraints refused to give.

At the twentieth, Stiles was aware the slaves were now murmuring. He’d long lost count, but this was more than he’d ever seen.

At the twenty-fifth, Stiles’s feet slipped against a pool of blood on the floor, his wrists screaming in protest as they suddenly took his weight. The strength of each stroke increased.

At the thirtieth, Stiles wasn’t sure he could tell reality from darkness. Laura was murmuring something low, almost under her breath. _Thirty_. That was a new record, wasn’t it? Nobody had been whipped thirty times before. He’d be proud, if pain wasn’t pulsing through his veins.

Laura spoke a little louder. “Derek,” she whispered, hushed. “Derek, that’s enough.”

Stiles could not hear Derek step back in place, nor could he see Derek sit back on his throne.

He _could_ see the blood dripping off the whip and frowned. That was a lot of blood. Even Peter looked pale at the sight.

The guards forced him down again, and Stiles let out a silent scream, unable to voice anything for the past twenty hits or so. It hurt to move. It hurt to open his eyes, to be free of the restraints, to be picked up as each guard held him up. Even the whispers from the slaves hurt his ears.

The guards placed Stiles on his own feet, usually a signifier that the slave was all right and it wasn’t just a torture session. Only his legs wouldn’t support his weight. He fell back onto the ground, pants soaking up his own blood. He rolled to his front instantly, wailing as the stone beat against his raw skin.

The whispers suddenly roared, and Laura roared in return. “It is our right,” she yelled. “You are our _things_ , nothing more. I will have no disrespect or I will tear you all limb from limb!” Not the best speech, probably, and Stiles’s eyes opened, noting Peter saying something hushed to Derek on the side.

“Now he’ll be useless for information,” Peter hissed. Stiles closed his eyes, noting the shame etched away on Derek’s face. If he pretended the shame was for him and not for Derek’s lack of control over his anger, Stiles felt a little better.

The guards picked him up. Stiles gave no complaints as they carried him back to the cold, dark dungeon.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about 4,000 words shorter than the others (which means it's still 10000 words). Lots of real life dramas! Lots of things to do! So, I'd rather get an update done and have it be shorter than leave you all hanging, especially when I've promised Monday updates.
> 
> Get your tissues ready. Please note the updated tags. It is possible to skip sections if it squicks you out- the sections are pretty small and chunky in this chapter, also a lot less graphic-ness in the second half.
> 
> As always, thanks for the kudos and comments!

 

Stiles waited for a couple more hours, pressing his back against the cool stone floor. It brought him some measure of relief even though the stones would quickly turn slippery and warm. Every time Stiles moved his back, the wounds opened up again. With the lightheaded feeling pulsing each time Stiles moved, Stiles was still impressed he’d survived after losing so much blood.

His dad had always called him a fighter.

The dungeon wasn’t just damp anymore. It was freezing. Part of him hoped he’d be killed quickly but it seemed the wolves were content having him freeze to death. Stiles groaned. He opened his eyes, hoping to see something in the dark. Water maybe. Or food. Either would be good.

Instead, Blue eyes flashed at him from the darkness. Not water, Stiles disappointedly thought.

“Derek?” Stiles slurred, his voice rough for whatever reason. Maybe it was the hit to the head. Maybe it had something to do with his aching back. Or his parched throat. He squinted his eyes, hoping to see Derek.

No such luck.

Peter stood before him, eyes flashing in the dark as he came closer, cane in hand. “Protective of your pack,” he accused. “You must have known you’d die in the viper’s nest, and yet you went to save your Argents anyway.” He angrily struck against the bars of the cell.

Stiles flinched, though he wasn’t sure if he actually moved so much as tensed all his muscles. “To save my father,” Stiles corrected, not bothering to say much more. There was no point. If Peter wanted to kill him, well, Stiles was tired.

Peter didn’t move. He breathed in an out calmly. Stiles could practically hear him think it over in his head, analyzing the possibilities and outcomes, seeing what would be the most likely to have happened. “She threatened your father.”

Stiles sighed. “Sent me a letter to remind me ‘bout it,” Stiles admitted softly. “I… it hurts,” he whimpered. “She said he’d be safe. Killed him when I left.” He took in a shuddering breath. “Scott?”

Peter remained stoic. “Scott’s alive. He won’t be punished.” The wolf inhaled another breath.

Stiles let out a sigh of relief at the news. “Good,” he uttered, something hot and liquid falling from his eyes.

“Protective of your pack,” he murmured again, but this time more assertion was in the words, as if Stiles had passed some sort of judgment. Peter tossed a skin of water his way. Desperately Stiles opened it up, draining it of its contents within seconds.

“An’ Derek will move on. He’s strong.” Stiles murmured after his last swallow. That water had been really good. Really good.

“Indeed,” Peter remarked softly, hands touching the bars. “My nephew has already moved on. Several times.” Instigator, Stiles thought.

Despite the goading Peter was hoping for, the words were comforting. Good. Stiles closed his eyes. “He likes brown. Like cellos.”

Peter didn’t offer any agreement on that, and Stiles laughed at himself for even bringing it up in front of the man’s uncle. “He whipped me a lot,” Stiles thought out loud. “Guess he’s angry, huh?”

“You deserved it. By law.”

Stiles let out a sharp laugh at that. “She was wrong,” Stiles commented. “This is all wrong.” He looked up at Peter, who simply remained impassive. It wasn’t like the lord, the second of the entire kingdom was going to agree with him. Idiot.  “‘Kay, I’m done talking now.” He glared up at Peter and Peter left, muttering to himself.

Stiles wished he’d had the courage to ask for another skin of water.

 

***

 

When Stiles woke the next time a plate of food sat next to him. It might as well have been rocks for all Stiles cared. There was no need to eat, no hunger in his belly.

Instead his back ached as if on fire. The agony seemed distant, as if there was a glass window between Stiles and his back. Stiles winced as he took in his surroundings, back still pressed to the floor.

Someone was hovered over him. Red eyes. But not… not Laura. That wasn’t her profile. It was a familiar profile, one he’d seen in the mornings as a kid…

“Scott?” Stiles slurred, piecing it together.

His best friend nodded, kneeling beside him. Luckily Stiles’s vision was too hazy to figure out what emotions Scott held because he wasn’t sure he’d like them. Stiles powered on. “You’ve got red eyes now,” Stiles murmured, trying to raise his hand. “‘Cause you got angry?”

Scott shook his head, wiping at his eyes. “Nah. Apparently I’m an Alpha now,” he uttered. “Confusing the hell out of Laura and the rest who follow the slave law.” Scott adjusted whatever he was working on. “I’m here with Deaton,” he added, “I’m safe.”

“Good,” Stiles mumbled. “Safe is good.” He looked over at a couple of other people in the back- guards. Scott had come with guards. “Really?” Stiles questioned, because Scott was a terrible liar. If he was safe, why was he here with guards?

“Yeah, Stiles. Laura’s not angry with _me_ ,” Scott joked, and Stiles smiled at his lightheartedness. Scott gave a chuckle before explaining. “I’m here because you’re part of my pack,” he said quickly. “And I’m here to check your wound.”

Ugh. His back hurt enough, but maybe Scott could help him through that. When they were younger and Stiles had done something foolhardy, like jump into some rocks and sprain his wrist, Scott would take his pain. A great feeling.

“Can you turn over?” Scott asked him.

The human frowned, reading the signals of his body. “Hurts,” the human mumbled. “Floor’s cold. Feels nice.”

“It does, buddy, it totally does,” Scott replied, his voice low and shaky. He was worried about something, but Stiles didn’t know what. “But I’m going to turn you over so I can start healing you, okay?” He motioned to the guards, and one came over hesitantly.

Stiles let out a groan as that numb glass of feeling was lifted for a moment, pain surging through him as they flipped him to his front. But then it came back down, and Stiles felt the cold stones against his face. It felt nice. Wet, and smelled really bad, but it felt nice.

“Oh gods,” Scott gasped, and the guards took a step back from their position. “Oh, gods, get Deaton _now_ , we can’t wait” Scott called to the guards, and they ran. Heh. Stiles had finally managed to scare the guards off.

Or maybe they ran because of Scott. He was an Alpha now. “Ordering around all the Betas,” Stiles told him. “You’re king.” He wiggled his legs a little, stretching them out.

“Yeah. Totally king. King slave. ” Scott looked him over, head going back and forth. “I uh, I’m going to apply something to try and… disinfect…” He reached for some supplies, but they were outside of Stiles’s line of vision, so he figured he might as well continue talking. Sometimes Melissa encouraged patients to talk when things were really bad.

Unlike Scott, she didn’t let them know things were really bad.

“Derek’s like a king,” Stiles continued. “I think he hates me. ’S okay, though. I deserve it. Maybe.” He turned his head to Scott, who was still looking over his back. “Do I deserve it?”

Scott looked at him, eyes wide and watery. “No,” Scott said lowly, honestly. “No, you don’t.” They were also red, but again, Stiles wasn’t sure if it was his Alpha eyes or his tired eyes.

“Damn right I don’t.” It felt good to be agreed with. “Tried to save my father. Fuck. Couldn’t even do that. Fucking Kate, promising me she’d keep him safe.” His chest constricted.

Scott touched his back as gently as he could. Stiles winced. It hurt, but luckily he didn’t have much feeling there at the moment, nor could he tell what Scott was doing to it. “She gave me a letter, promising. I should have known. She poisoned Dad, I should have known she’d kill him.”

Scott shook his head. “They have a code,” he replied. “You thought she’d keep it.” His voice sounded distant, the way Melissa’s did. Stiles smiled. Figured her son would also be a healer.

“Keep. Keep. Only I keep things. Kept the letter,” Stiles admitted. “Kept it with your key. I’m sorry about that. It was shitty of me.” He breathed in, voice shaky. He couldn’t see Scott clearly at all. “Scott?” he cried out, too weak to lift his hands.

“Yeah?” Scott asked him, using the same voice Melissa had when she spoke with patients. Stiles wanted to tell him, wanted to let him know the apology burning on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he asked, “Do you think they’ll kill me quickly?”

Scott replied with another yeah, though he wiped his eyes again. His hands were red now, too.

“And… do you think I’ll see them? When I die?”

It was good Deaton came in, then, because Scott couldn’t hold his hands steady anymore. Terrible medical training, there, not to be able to remove themselves from a patient, Stiles chastised, but no one responded, so maybe he didn’t say it.

Deaton looked somewhat winded, and Stiles attempted to wiggle his back. It was a terrible idea, and Deaton told him so, but the expression of disgust on Deaton’s face was worth it.

“They might have to bite him if they want him alive,” Deaton told Scott, “But he wouldn’t be able to take it in this condition. Go to my room, I want you to get more figwart leaves.” Deaton took in a breath, preparing himself for an enormous challenge. Stiles smirked. Clearly he’d never met a Stilinski before. They were all enormous challenges.

Scott ran, using speeds Stiles had never seen. The alpha returned within a blink, his arms full of wraps and wet leaves. Deaton pressed them onto the human’s back, and Stiles let out a groan. It stung, worse than the whip that caused them.

“I grabbed some sage as well,” Scott added and Deaton praised him, pulling out an ointment that smelled a lot like comfrey.

“I’m going to clean the wounds,” Deaton began, “and I’ll apply this once it’s clean. Then you wrap his wounds in that, pressing the leaves down first. Okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles answered for Scott, and Deaton raised an eyebrow while Scott’s head snapped up.

“Back with us, Mr. Stilinski?” he asked softly.

“Slave,” Stiles corrected. “From a nowhere place.” The stone was really comfortable. Stiles might ask later to have the stone placed in his room instead of a pillow.

“You might pass out as I clean your wounds,” Deaton warned, reaching into a bowl. “It will sting. A lot. Your back is very exposed.”

Stiles tried to shrug, but that hurt, so he merely said, “Will I wake up again?”

The silence was deafening. “Ok,” Stiles accepted, understanding the answer. “Deaton, you’ll take care of Derek?”

Deaton waited, freezing, and Scott’s face also looked shocked. Deaton finally shook his head, breaking out of his thoughts. “Here we go,” he began, breaking Scott out of his.

“He needs to use soap that doesn’t burn,” Stiles continued, voice cracking as his back started to light up, signals of pain and stinging and hurt. But it didn’t hurt, not really. A far away hurt. “He’s not burning with his family when he uses it- he’s just being weird and guilty.” Scott shook his head as well, concentrating on what Deaton was doing. “An’ he gets really horny on the full moon,” Stiles began, “so you should find him someone who likes sucking his cock. If you grab his balls when his abs tense-“

Deaton pressed against something and Stiles screamed, agony bursting from inside. He didn’t black out. His mind simply _shut down_.

 

***

 

Sometimes the guards would talk to him, now. Stiles was pretty sure the door was always left open, but he couldn’t stand up and walk out, he knew that much. Fuck. His back was really bad. It hurt all the time.

At least he’d gotten a pillow. And blankets, to keep warm. The guards were always around, always looking nervous. If he died, some of them said, they’d be excommunicated from all packs- they’d become Om-gas. Stiles didn’t really understand what an Om-ga was, but it was serious to the guards, even if it was the dumbest thing ever. At least when Peter talked about Scott, he’d called Scott an _omega_. That made a lot more sense than Om-ga. And sometimes they talked about the Elfas, and sometimes about denar, and dewti, and jawb, and Stiles never really understood what they were saying at all.

But he tried to listen to them anyway, despite the loud buzz in the back of his mind.

Today they were whispering in hushed tones. “I’ve never seen him like it,” one said, and Stiles cocked his head to hear better. The wolves paid him no mind. “He’s usually so calm on the moon- Laura had to restrain him.”

Peter? Derek?

“And he’s been talking a new slave to bed each night,” Peter, Stiles decided. “He’s becoming too much like his Uncle. It doesn’t settle well.”

“Well, Elfa McCall talks to Laura, today, right? Maybe it’s about that, since he’s the Elfa of all…”

The guard turned to Stiles. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, coming in and dropping her sword. “Oh, honey, I didn’t think you were awake.” Stiles breathed, his chest heavy. He didn’t think he was awake. “He’s a traitor,” the man warned, but the first guard didn’t seem to mind, dropping to Stiles’s level.

Stiles shut his eyes, not wanting to face her concerned gaze. It held so much pity. Disgusting. It felt disgusting. “My back hurts, is all,” he wheezed, and the hot wet spot on his pillow seemed much more believable.

“He’s out of control,” the male guard admitted, though Stiles couldn’t see what he was doing that made him so dangerous. The female guard sighed, taking off her glove.

“I’m going to try and take some of the pain, okay?”

It was always a good sleep when they took his pain.

 

***

 

It wasn’t with happiness that Scott came back. It was with medical gauze and tape and oils and Stiles loved his friend, but this was going to be painful.

“Is it getting better?” Stiles asked as Scott tried to carefully tear the bandages off. The guards took a step back, the stench filling even his nose with the smell. It said enough. Stiles swallowed.

“Am I gonna die?” he asked softly, and Scott shook his head, squeezing Stiles’s hand.

“Deaton,” Scott commanded one of the guards, his eyes going red.

Both ran.

Stiles smiled up at him. “Super cool when you do that, man. You could have your own army or something.”

Scott shrugged, but his eyes lit up like they did when he had an idea. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I could. Don’t want one, though.” He kept moving the bandages. “Stiles,” he said softly. “Do you want to know what’s happening?”

Stiles thought, weighing the options on his mind. “I’ve been feeling cold a lot, lately. I’m guessing an infection?” The wolf’s face nodded. “Shit,” he murmured.

“Well, there is some good news,” Scott began, patting Stiles’s arm. “The deepest cuts, they’re healing well. We can’t see bone anymore.”

Stiles nodded. That was good. Right. No exposed bone was good.

Oh, fuck, there had been exposed bone? And now guards were running, as if it were worse? What did his back look like?

Scott picked up on his panic. “The infection is small,” Scott assured him, “but I don’t know what to do with a wound like this, so I’m asking for help.”

Good. Okay. Stiles could deal with that. And Scott was inexperienced. Stiles relaxed. “Okay. So it’s healing?”

“Right. But it looks like it just got complicated. You’re maybe fifty percent healed?” Scott reached out to take his pain. “So long as you don’t get a fever or anything, you’ll be fine. Or else we’ll haul you up to the medical center and you’ll just have guards- you’re down here for your protection, anyway.”

That couldn’t be right. What was so terrible that he had to stay down here? Stiles frowned and Scott groaned, covering his mouth. “Oh, shit,” he exclaimed, “I shouldn’t have-“

“Spill,” Stiles demanded. “I’m cold, I’m wounded and infected and probably going to die in this hospitable place for prisoners, and you are going to spill.” He glared at Scott.

The coward retreated by closing his eyes. “Derek’s… Derek’s lost his anchor,” Scott murmured lowly. “It’s not just at the full moon he shifts anymore. In his lucid moments, he calls out for you, but…”

“Why is he up there and I’m down here?” Stiles asked. Fucker. It made sense that Derek would want him down here, in this rotting dungeon, in this cold, terrible place-

“Well, uh,” Scott answered, “We didn’t want to move you yet. And he’s… there are wolf restraints. Somewhere. Outside.” Scott patted his shoulder. “The more distance between you two, the better.”

Scott wasn’t lying.  That… the distance was comforting. Stiles nodded, his eyes shutting for a moment. Distance. They were keeping Derek away. When he opened them again, Deaton was there.

“If he gets a fever,” Deaton was saying, “You need to let us know right away. We’ll have to move him then.”

His eyes closed again.

 

***

 

The next visitor to his humble cell was Isaac. The room spun when Stiles raised his head to greet the guard, so he sat it back down gently.

Suddenly Isaac stood next to him, his arms taking up pain. “You aren’t looking so well,” he commented, and Stiles didn’t even have the energy to flip him off. Great. Blackouts.

“Well, luckily, I have wolves coming by and taking my pain,” Stiles commented dryly, the heavy weight of pain dissipating. “Thanks.” He closed his eyes.

Isaac only nodded, standing close to Stiles. Obviously he had something to say, but didn’t quite know how to say it. Stiles sighed, his eyes opening despite the lull of darkness behind them. “What is it, Isaac?”

Isaac looked around nervously, checking for something. Then he dropped down to his knees and whispered, “I… Do you think I could join your pack?”

Stiles frowned. “My pack?”

Isaac rolled his eyes. “Scott’s pack. Derek’s been acting different, and Scott has been befriending a bunch of slaves and soldiers lately, and…” He trailed off, standing upright.

It was interesting information. Scott was forming his own pack? That’d be dangerous. Deadly. Worriedly, Stiles gripped Isaac’s hand. “The argents could kill two smaller wolf-packs more easily than one,” he murmured, touching Isaac’s hand. “Wait until the war is over.” He breathed. “Make him wait until the war is over.”

Startled in his grip, Isaac nodded. The fear was enough to convince Stiles of his agreement, and Stiles shut his eyes again.

His back hurt.

 

***

 

“So. Scott. You owe him.” Stiles raised his head, snapping to awakeness. He really was starting to get annoyed at the people interrupting his sleep. He didn’t hurt there.

Erica, he recognized. She looked pretty in candlelight. Turning her head to her left, she snarled. “And you owe me.”

“I do?” Stiles asked, and she shook her head, placing the candle down on a table. A table now? Stiles frowned. He hadn’t seen a table here before. Maybe it wasn’t real.

He’d seen lots of things that weren’t real, lately. Unicorns, for instance. One had been prancing along the dungeon, laughing at the guards-

Oh. Erica was talking, the candlelight on her skin like fire. It looked like fire. Stiles swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe she’d take the fire away.

“I’m here on behalf of Laura, to ask you some questions,” she began, her hand gently touching his shoulder. Stiles gasped- the pain was gone, and it felt great. Finally he was clear-headed.

“Go for it.” Stiles wasn’t sure when he’d be this levelheaded again.

“Kate Argent wrote you a letter, telling you what you had to do to keep your father safe, yes or no?” She began.

Began.

Began. It always began with Erica.

No, Stiles thought, shaking his head. It began with Kate.

“Yes. She told it to me while stabbing a scarecrow,” he added. “She frightens me.” He looked up at Erica, her hair somewhat brown in the candlelight. “You scare me.”

Erica looked him over before sighing. “Stiles,” she murmured softly, “Scott… Scott has talked to Laura.”

Stiles jerked suddenly, the pain returning. “No, no! She’ll kill him! She’ll kill him!” Desperately he grabbed at Erica. “You have to stop him. You have to keep him safe!” He blinked and he pulled her down, closer. “You _promised_ -“

Erica held his wrists, gently putting him back on the bed while he struggled and screamed. “He’s still alive,” she assured him repeatedly. “He’s alive.”

Stiles whimpered underneath her. “He’s alive,” he breathed.

“Yeah, Stiles. It’s Erica, remember? I saw Scott today. He’s alive.” She looked to her left again before looking at Stiles. “He’s an Alpha now, so they have to discuss Alpha things together, okay? If she kills him, the whole slave quarters would riot. She doesn’t want that.”

Feeling the panic alleviate even the tiniest bit, Stiles nodded. That made sense. Scott was safe. He breathed in once or twice, and Erica let go of his wrists, moving her hand back to his shoulder. “Erica,” Stiles breathed, “What about Derek? Scott… Scott says he’s being held off grounds or something, that we’re being separated. Does…does he hate me?” his eyes burned. “Is he trying to kill me?”

Because Stiles was pretty sure nothing would stop Derek from killing him. And he deserved it, for hurting Derek. He never should have… he should have. Fuck. He never should have gone into Derek’s room, never should have fallen for Derek, never should have-

“No,” Erica told him softly. “He’s just…” she paused. “You know I used to be human, yeah?” she began, and Stiles nodded. He’d figured as much. “When a wolf has an anchor, it’s like your soul. It’s a moral compass sort of thing, times twenty. Without an anchor, you lose yourself- you go berserk, only driven by your wildest impulses. A lot of bitten wolves don’t find it for years.”

That made sense. The wolves who couldn’t find it would be locked up in the full moon, angry, howling.

“And we can change it, choose it, figure out whatever it is we can use to center ourselves,” Erica continued explaining. She was good at explaining. She was nice. Very nice. Stiles smiled.

“He’s… His anchor used to be his anger. When he tapped into it, to steady him during your confession, it didn’t work. Instead, it made him violent. He’s spent the past couple of weeks acting like a baby, doing things either to keep you away or to keep you close. He calls out your name because, well, in my opinion, because he’s worried about you.” She glanced to her left again.

“But he’s not going to kill me?” Stiles whimpered, eyes wide, trying to make out Erica’s face. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want Derek to kill him. He liked living, thank you very much.

Erica pursed her lips. “He’d better not. Some of us like you a lot better than him right now,” and she pointedly shot a glare to the side. Stiles nodded. “Do you wish you could see him?”

His eyes shut closed, picturing Derek, but instead of sweet embraces he could only see the fingers that held the whip. “No,” he whimpered. “I… I don’t want to see him right now. I can still feel it in my back, I can…” he shuffled. “I… take care of him, Erica. I don’t… I don’t think I’ll be able to.”

A whine sounded from far away, broken and little. Erica pet his hair in comfort. “That’s okay,” she assured him. “Totally fine.”

Stiles shivered, forgetting the question instantly. “I think I’m going to die,” admitted. “My back aches and sometimes my bones ache and I can’t even stand up to take a piss- they’ve made a hole in this bed-thing, can you believe that?” he breathed.

Wait. When did they put him on the bed thing?

Stiles couldn’t remember.

“My dreams feel cold and awake I’m hot and I’m going to be killed, axe to the neck in a couple of days, once I’m better enough to kill, and all I can think about is him, and every good memory turns into the whip and every bad memory turns into the bed and I can’t, Erica, I can’t…”

She continued petting his head even after he’d fallen asleep.

 

***

 

Stiles shivered. The air was cold, too cold. He shivered again, desperately wanting a blanket. Why didn’t the Argents leave him a blanket? Derek had blankets. He had lots of blankets.

“I still do,” a voice whispered, and Stiles closed his eyes. It was nice of his mind to pretend Derek was still here.

“I am,” Derek insisted, but Stiles laughed.

“Yeah, you were here the first fifteen times, mister,” he croaked, waving his finger. “I believe you.” He adjusted himself on the makeshift board bed, eyes pointed up at Derek’s form. He stood, all man muscle, like he always did.

“Just how sick are you?” Derek wondered from above him.

“Deaton says I wouldn’t survive with or without the bite,” Stiles nearly sang. “It was cool. Scott’s eyes were red, and he asked me about my dad, and maybe I’ll die quickly. You know all that, of course. I’ve already told you.”

Derek was silent for a moment, which was unusual. Usually Derek yelled at him. Stiles frowned. Derek wasn’t real, though. Scott had promised Derek was being held somewhere far away. “What else have you told me?” Derek asked, his eyes on Stiles’s face, taking a small step closer.

Stiles reached out for Derek’s hand, but it was farther away than he expected. It only grasped empty air. “I’m sorry,” he stated simply. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he added.

Derek snorted. “You’re worried about hurting me?” he asked, eyes trailing over Stiles’s back. “Stiles…”

Stiles lay back down. “You were angry,” he uttered. “I didn’t want to make you angry. But I liked being with you. You were wonderful, like water in a desert.” Stiles shut his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he repeated again. “And if I die before you can kill me, I’m sorry for that, too.”

Stiles felt the gasp that Derek made, and wondered if maybe he should sleep before his brain confused his senses again.

Something leaked onto his face. “Get your ceiling fixed,” he uttered, but he didn’t have the strength to escape the drops that fell. 

Maybe they were his own.

 

***

 

Scott told him it had been several weeks while he was in the dungeon.

Stiles didn’t believe him. It didn’t feel like several weeks.

Scott told him the infection was spreading.

Stiles believed that.

 

***

 

The lady came to visit him. “Your alpha came to see me today,” she uttered. Stiles merely stared at her, too weak to move his head. “He had her letter to you. Blackmail,” she added. “There’s a precedent.”

She looked at him, her eyes examining, judging again. Stiles merely blinked, wanting to swallow but he couldn’t work his throat. He was parched.

“He came to me, angry and hopeless. He threatened to take the slaves if you died. He argued precedent, pack, about my anger.” She breathed. “He looked so much like mother.”

The blackness took him before he could tell her about the clouds on the stones and the rocks were made of gold and the lacy muffins were burning along with his fire back

He could feel his soul dripping

Loss

blackness

 

***

 

Stiles was pretty sure Kate and evil were visiting him. Then a watersnake came and bit them, writhing on the ground, and he should have known better, should have watched out, should have listened, snakes in the stones and they swam into him when he breathed and he couldn’t move and there were snakes in the stones

 

***

 

When the guards came to get him, Stiles couldn’t even feel their arms. Or his arms. There was a light, and people were watching him.

His death felt like relief.

When he died, his mother was waiting for him, except she looked a lot like Kate, and all of Beacon hills grabbed at him, their fiery hands burning his skin.

His eyes flew open, but he only saw blackness, and two pairs of red eyes glaring back at him.

“Move him,” someone’s voice said but he was already spinning

 

***

 

When Stiles woke next, there was light. He felt a lot better, not in pain. “Where?” he asked, shutting his eyes to the harsh brightness. The human wiggled around- he was in a soft place, sitting somewhat up, something cold on his back. But he was sitting, and someone was holding him- someone firm and warm.

It was too nice. Stiles wondered how long it’d take him to find his dad in this place.

“Safe,” God murmured, wrapping his arms around Stiles to take his pain. Stiles could feel the rush as it left his body.

The human’s head felt a little clearer. “Am I dead?” he asked, his lips dry. He had to know. He supposed it was a boring question God heard all the time, but he wanted to know and just get that out of the way.

To his surprise, the arms tightened. “No,” God answered him gently, reassurance in the tone. “Laura… Laura excused you. She told everybody about how you were blackmailed by Kate. You’re….”

There were words said, but Stiles didn’t quite catch them. Rather, from their tone Stiles inferred that he was forgiven, that he had no sin to begin with. Surprising. Not at all a complaint though, Stiles thought loudly, hoping God wouldn’t change his mind.

Stiles frowned, turning- but a new pain shot up his back, making him uncomfortable. “It hurts,” he whined. His body shook from the pain.

God placed a hand on his forehead. “It’s as much as I can do right now,” he said.

Stiles nodded, hands at his sides, and he squeezed his fists into balls. The pain subsided when he didn’t move. “How did she know about Kate?” Stiles murmured. God smelled good.

“Scott found your letter,” God said simply.

The words rolled around in Stiles’s head. They were important, and heavy, but he could barely believe Scott had found it. He must have found the letter and shown it to Laura, and probably yelled and snarled and roared on his behalf. “Scott’s amazing,” he slurred, sleepy again.

“He is,” God agreed, taking his hand off Stiles’s forehead. “And he’s coming soon to take care of you. You’re getting better now.”

A smile crossed over Stiles’s lips. He was alive. Getting better. Good. Scott was alive. He’d helped pardon Stiles. Great. They made the best team, Stiles and Scott. Or Scott and Stiles. Yeah. He could put Scott’s name first in their name pairing after this.

“He woke up a little,” he heard God say, and he sounded a lot like Derek.

Stiles scoffed. Derek wasn’t here. It was heaven, and Derek was supposed to be chained up outside. Right. His heart thudded with fear, and Stiles took a deep breath. No. Derek wasn’t here.

The new person came into the room, placing his hands on Stiles’s arms, and the pain alleviated so much better than when God did it. “You shouldn’t risk that,” God murmured. “You might lose the spark. Peter said-”

“Peter isn’t here,” and that sounded like Scott. Stiles smiled at his friend, his eyes focusing on Scott’s worried face. Catching Stiles’s eyes, his anger faded away into concern. “How you doing?” Stiles smiled back at his best friend in the whole wide world asked. Now that Scott was also taking his pain, Stiles felt great. He felt calm, and peaceful, and good.

“I’m tired,” Stiles answered. “But better. God and I have been talkin’.” He yawned. “You’re amazing,” he added, and shut his eyes, hand reaching up to squeeze Scott’s wrist. Just needed to point that out. Otherwise Scott would forget. And Stiles wouldn’t remind him once again.

He could practically feel Scott’s relief. “Taking full sentences, comprehending things,” Scott murmured, and Stiles wondered how long he’d not been doing that. On the upside, he didn’t remember much, so the embarrassment was minimal.

“I’m sleepy,” Stiles commented. “God is comfortable.” He nuzzled back into the man, no longer feeling his back because he was sure it would have protested.

“Sleep, Stiles,” Scott assured him, and when Stiles had just reached that place without memory, he heard Scott ask, “God?”

“He still has some fever,” God explained.

 

***

 

Someone washed him in a big bath. Warmth seeped into his bones from the water.

“Nice,” he slurred, and rested his head against the chest. “Feels nice.”

Someone in front of him moved. “Hey there,” Scott said, voice in front. When Stiles opened his eyes, Scott was currently taking his pain, black veins trailing through his arms. The chest was still behind him, though, solid. And wet- oh. Both Scott and the man were wearing clothes in the bath.

“Hey,” Stiles murmured. “Thanks. For saving me," he began again. “An’ takin’ my pain.”

Guilt flashed through Scott’s eyes. “It’s not been just me,” he began. “Uh, _others_ , have been taking, too. You’ve been really sick.”

“Feel better,” Stiles mumbled, adjusting himself on the firm chest. The person behind him was breathing deeply.

“Good,” Scott told him. “Um, well, I’m in charge of your care,” Scott began. “But I’m gonna wait to tell you stuff until you can stay awake, okay?”

Stiles nodded, the warm water over his skin. “Not supposed to wash in a bath,” he murmured.

“It’s okay,” the voice behind him replied.

Tiny drops of terror poured down into Stiles’s heart. Stiles didn’t like the voice. Anger hid at the edges of his mind, deep within the sound. The sound was always angry, always. And it was sharp, and it cracked, and-

Panic began to sear through him. The water was warm, too warm, like pain, pain _behind_ him, and-

Scott grabbed his flailing limbs, holding him up above the water. “It’s okay,” Scott comforted Stiles. “I’ve got you. He’s gone.”

Stiles took a couple of breaths, nodding. Scott would protect him. Scott always protected him, always helped him out when he got in over his head.

Calming down, Stiles looked around at the entrance to the bath but no one remained. It was only them in the water.

With weak hands Stiles gripped the wolf’s shirt as Scott continued to assure him. “Go back to sleep,” Scott suggested, but Stiles shook his head.

Stiles refused to fall sleep until Deaton came with Isaac in tow. “Isaac will assist with the pain from now on,” Deaton replied. “I’ll go ahead and help with the treatment.” Isaac stepped into the bath, the water darkening his clothes instantly.

Stiles nodded vigorously, relieved and exhausted before falling back asleep in the warm water.

 

***

 

Someone sang to him, old songs from their childhood. It sounded like Scott, like how Melissa used to sound, but ten times deeper. And off-key, but Stiles supposed it was hereditary. He opened to say so, but his words stuck, and he dozed off again.

 

***

 

Someone touched him, forcing him to drink. But he didn’t need to force. Stiles suckled on the bottle willingly. A happy sound reached his ears, and Stiles smiled, drinking the water for all it was worth.

It was warm.

And it didn’t spill on his chest, which was great, even if he did feel like a giant fucking baby. He kept his eyes closed, not sure of who was taking care of him. He’d like to pretend it was Scott.

He couldn’t bear to see Derek.

When he’d finished his fill of water, he stopped suckling, nodding, and the water fell away. “Food?” the voice asked, and Stiles tightened his eyes shut.

“I can have someone else…” the voice trailed off, and Stiles nodded roughly, afraid of the hands that held him. He was set down, the body going off to the door. “I…He needs food,” he uttered, and a lady came in to replace the man.

She scoffed. “What a mess,” she murmured. “I’ll feed him.” She wandered over to where Stiles lay, touching him gently. “He’s gone,” she murmured, and Stiles opened his eyes. At least with a lady, he wouldn’t have to guess if it was Derek. “You’re getting better,” she murmured, handing him a spoon. “Scott’s sleeping, otherwise he’d be feeding you.” She helped him into a sitting position, propping him against the pillows.

He reached for the spoon. Though his hands were shaking he held onto it, not dropping it once. The woman grinned. “He babies you,” she sighed. “He wants to take care of you, of course. Like an idiot.” She shook her head. “You can’t just baby someone after…” she trailed off. 

Stiles knew who she was talking about. “He tried to kill me,” Stiles replied, digging into the bowl of mush. It was surprisingly tasty, though that might have been the herb combinations more than the base.

The woman nodded. “He did,” she agreed. Stiles was surprised. He’d expected a lot more resistance on her part, like Scott when he pleaded Derek had just lost control. Instead, her brisk answers were rather helpful, and Stiles was glad she acknowledged that he was right- Derek had tried to kill him.

When Stiles glanced at her thoughtfully, she added, “You’re allowed to feel however you want about that.” She looked over at the door. “I’ll make sure he respects your decision.”

Stiles swallowed, reaching for another mouthful. “Why?” he asked, and this time the mush tasted like nothing.

The woman shrugged. “Lots of reasons. Number two, I once had a lover. He was a slave. He was caught and killed running.” Her eyes darkened. “I was told to lead the army for helping him.”

Ah. Stiles relaxed. She knew her. Cora was always on the side of emancipation. Or something. Or maybe she just saw things for how she thought they would be, and never cared about the intricacies of things or whoa, his brain was working again. That was weird.

“One,” she added, taking a finger of the goop herself, sniffing it, “We warned him not to use his anger as an anchor. Our mother specifically told him never to do so. He knew the risks, and he has to reap what he’s sown.”

By the time Stiles had eaten his fill, he was quite sure Cora was his new favorite Hale. She was amazing. She helped him back on the bed. “What if I don’t know what to feel?” he asked, referring to her earlier comment.

Cora didn’t miss a beat. “That’s okay, too,” she said. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t come in if you want.”

He felt weak and stupid for saying so but Stiles nodded, tightening his fist in the sheet. “Please,” he requested.

Cora sat next to him, simply letting him be until he closed his eyes again.

This time his sleep was sweet.

 

***

There were improvements. With Scott’s help, he was finally able to bathe himself. Granted, he was never able to wash his back, but when Scott washed it his face no longer winced in sympathy. The infection was minimal now, though occasionally his back still ached in pain.

Mostly, what he needed to work on now was not being winded when he walked to the toilet, and not freaking out every time the door opened.

What else was to be expected when he was stored in Derek’s room? Scott had explained the reason as to why they kept Stiles in Derek’s chambers one day. Nobody wanted to open the room because of how Derek had been acting, Derek was often out leading battles now, and it made Derek a little calmer inside, knowing Stiles was there. When Stiles raised an eyebrow Scott sighed, telling Stiles he wouldn’t understand unless he was a wolf. Stiles had punched him, though it hurt his hand more than his friend. Scott added that Derek being calm meant Derek wouldn’t go out of control, but Stiles’s back ached in disagreement.

So now, Stiles washed himself in the bath water (a rule he rather liked being broken) and floated on the surface, letting the warmth soak to his bones. Scott, being the best friend that he was, knew how much Stiles disliked being here. But it was probably the safest place for Stiles outside of the dungeons.

Deaton promised soon Stiles would be able to go stay in the hospital beds. They couldn’t risk him getting another infection. Stiles inhaled shakily, trying to forget the feel of the whip. If anything, his sickness had clouded his mind, and most of that day remained hazy in his mind.

He exhaled, closing his eyes.

He was alive. Tired, shaky, but for once he felt like he was going to survive. He could think about Derek later; right now, he was alive.

It felt great.

Scott knocked on the door to the bath, and Stiles sat up, the water carrying most of his weight. “What’s up?” he asked, and Scott smiled, coming in.

“Got some news,” Scott reported, smiling. Stiles gave him a go on motion.

“Um, First off, Deaton thinks you can move in a couple of days. You’ve been healing really well. Secondly, great news- Derek’s found another anchor.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow at his friend. Surely Scott knew he didn’t want to hear about Derek. But the alpha continued.

“It means he won’t be angry and losing control anymore,” Scott said softly. “You… Well, he knows to stay away.”

Stiles was glad Scott didn’t tell him “You don’t have to be afraid anymore.” He wasn’t sure he’d ever stop being afraid of Derek right now. “Yeah. Good. And I’m here, so he doesn’t have to call out for me?”

“Well, yeah. He took a couple of missions to the front to disappear for a while, while you were sleeping,” Scott assured him. “He hasn’t been here pining over you the entire time.”

Somehow, disappointment still sparked at those words. Stiles shoved it aside. “More pining over the loss of his room,” he joked.

Scott’s face went serious for a moment. “Stiles,” he said softly. “Derek would spend days awake, sucking your pain away. He offered up this room the instant he heard of your infection. He made sure you had everything- hassling the guards who didn’t want to take shifts over a sick person.”

Of course Scott was promoting this. Scott, the ever believer in true love. Stiles sighed, knowing he was ruining Scott’s dream of seeing his happiness, but it was Stiles’s life, and Stiles was afraid of Derek right now. Stiles looked away. “You’re saying he regrets it?” he asked.

“Would you believe me?” Scott asked, reaching for a cloth to wash Stiles’s back. Stiles turned around, grateful Scott chose not to see his face, chose to give him privacy.

Stiles bit his lip. Part of him wanted Derek to regret. Wanted Derek to be hurt. Part of him wanted Derek to stop regretting. What was done, was done. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I…I feel like I have to forgive him if he does.”

Scott squeezed his shoulder fondly. “No way, dude. Cora said you don’t have to forgive someone until you’re ready.”

His heart lightened at that. Scott understood more than he’d expected. “She’s really quite the philosopher, isn’t she?” he asked, and Scott began his gentle washing, gingerly pressing into the wounds themselves.

“Yeah,” Scott said. “She says stuff like this happens a lot on the battlefield, in camps. She’s had to play mediator to a bunch of angry wolves.”

Stiles scoffed. “I don’t envy her position,” he admitted, imagining it. Wolves from all over, all angry, all snarling and clawing-  Stiles took in another deep breath.

Noticing Stiles’s tension, Scott changed the subject. “She’s been helping me,” Scott informed. “She and Laura, anyway. They’re telling me the ins and outs of leading a pack, Laura with diplomacy and Pack intricacies, and Cora with battles. Apparently I’m the first True Alpha in years, so a lot of wolves… respect me. Just for that.”

“Like the hot girl everybody wants,” Stiles mused. “How the hell are you able to do all this without me?” he asked. “Gods, I remember when you first got bit-“

Scott laughed. “It’s not so bad. I’ve got Deaton, too.” Scott rubbed a little harder. “To be honest, though, I can’t wait until I’ve got my Second back in the game.”

Touched. Stiles felt tears well up in his eyes- Scott had forgiven him, still trusted him enough even though Stiles’s actions had endangered him. Maybe he was always Scott’s second. Maybe that was why he couldn’t throw Scott under the bus and save himself.

Being a second was a lot like being a best friend, and he could do that well enough. “Good,” Stiles began. “I’ll start by tying you up and having Jackson throw balls at you.”

Scott laughed. “Laura said that when she was Alpha, she was sure Peter was going to do the same. But with knives. He’d really been the person most likely to inherit the title.”

“Huh,” Stiles thought. That…

Wait. Peter kept talking about how he wanted Stiles as a wolf, or something. Instinctual loyalty. And Derek had pointed out about how Laura relied on Peter’s advice about the slaves. And she was always placating him, seeking his approval or-

Holy shit, Stiles realized. Holy shit.

“What’s wrong?” Scott asked behind him.

“Don’t…” Stiles breathed in. “I… I don’t trust Peter,” he began. He loved Scott, but he couldn’t really explain why right now. “Don’t… please don’t be alone with him. Please.”

Scott chuckled. “I know what you mean,” he replied. It was doubtful he really knew. “He kept leering at me, like I was some sort of wild bird or something. It was weird. And he kept offering to show me things, kinda…”

Scott stopped behind him figuring it out, and Stiles closed his eyes. “Oh God,” Scott whispered. “He wants me. He totally wants to fuck me.”

No. How could Scott be so close and yet so far? “He doesn’t want to fuck you, Scott,” Stiles groaned. “What if he want’s your Alpha? He’s been helping Laura, or at least, giving her commands, suggestions- setting up the Hales as his perfect empire. He’s a surrogate leader. You’re a new Alpha- and how to most people become Alphas?”

The gears turning in Scott’s head were almost audible. “But he’s not like that,” Scott concluded. “I… I found your letter, and showed it to him! He rallied up Derek and Cora, and we all confronted Laura about it together!”

Stiles winced, thinking about it. “What did he say?”

Scott breathed. “He said the letter suggested you protected your pack, and we could use that. So he talked to Cora, who liked you, and we went to see Derek. Derek was-“

“Skip Derek,” Stiles requested curtly.

“Well, Peter talked to me about how the slaves and some guards follow me- they already see me as a leader. They want to be in my pack. Laura can’t keep me here, now that I’m an alpha, and if I left, my pack is allowed to go with me. So he told me our best bet would be to threaten Laura with a revolt, and…”

Scott paused. “That sounds worse than it was. But we also pointed out the letter, and I promised to stay, and…” Scott breathed. “So here we are. You’re free, I’m staying, and Peter helped me.”

Holy fuck. “No revolt?” he asked.

“None. The official reason is because I believe in the Hales, and support them keeping wolves safe.” Scott shuddered. “I… I’ll be careful with him,” he promised, clearly still thinking Peter wanted to bone him. “But I don’t think he’s a bad guy.”

“Maybe.” Though he disagreed, Stiles kept silent.

 

***

 

It was a good thing Stiles couldn’t sleep that night, his back aching. Stiles still couldn’t rest on it, still facedown on Derek’s bed, but at least he couldn’t see enough to remember all the times that happened before.

Then again, sometimes he still remembered. He touched the pillow, hands tracing where Derek would lay. Sometimes, if he closed his eyes, he could feel Derek laying next to him as he breathed in softly, exhausted from several orgasms each night.

That memory pulled him under, taking him to that magical place. Right as stiles was about to fall asleep, the door swung open behind him, tearing that away.

Damnit.

Stiles went through a mental checklist of who it might be, but nobody would be in at this hour. And though he couldn’t see behind him, it felt different from everyone else. Everyone else usually announced themselves.

Though he couldn’t see, and normally there were guards and stuff coming in all the time, it felt different somehow. “Who’s there?”

The footsteps stopped. “I thought you had been moved to Deaton’s,” came the frozen voice, the shock dripping from each word.

Stiles grimaced. Of course it was the last person he’d wanted to see. And somehow, the person he wanted to see the most. He hated himself for being conflicted.

“I’m sorry,” Derek stammered behind him, “I shouldn’t have presumed-“

“It’s fine,” Stiles lied, inhaling. “It’s your room, anyway.” Already he could feel his gut tighten and tremble, and not in a good way.

The wolf seemed to take note. “I’ll get my things and leave,” he said gently. “I can sleep with the soldiers again.” A drawer opened behind him, and clothes rustled.

Stiles bit his lip as he felt hope that Derek was looking for lube. No. _No._ He slammed that hope down.

“I’m almost done,” Derek assured him, and Stiles turned on his side to watch the wolf, pointedly not staring at the human. Derek looked injured. And dirty. And weary. And hopeless.

“What happened?” Stiles asked softly, somehow concerned. He surprised himself with the concern his voice held.

The lord was also surprised, looking up with something akin to reserved joy on his face. “We’ve just come back from another set of battles. We’re back for a while; the pass is frozen and we won’t be able to get there for another three weeks at least.”

“Oh,” Stiles uttered. “Are… You’re winning, though?”

Derek nodded, his face still soft. As he stepped back, into candlelight, Stiles finally put together the other emotion on Derek’s face.

Shame.

 _Good,_ some part of him said. _Good, he should feel shame, because he nearly killed me._ And another part, a deeper part was glad of the shame for it meant Derek still cared. Here Stiles lay, terrified of the wolf before him and yet he still wanted the wolf to care.

Cora had said it was okay not to know how to feel. Stiles swallowed, debating whether or not he should lay out his hand in invitation. Instead, he opened his mouth. “Can I… Can I ask you questions?” he asked softly. Derek took a shuddering breath, but set the clothes on the counter. Cautiously he took several steps forward, weariness setting through his bones. Stiles watched him cautiously, inwardly thankful when Derek knelt at the bedside, his eyes level with Stiles’s as he leaned forward.

“Anything,” Derek whispered, his eyes wide and honest. Stiles knew if he’d laid out his hand Derek would have taken it. It hurt, knowing Derek was still in love with him. He felt so unsafe. If Derek’s love caused him to be whipped, then…

“Who commanded the whipping?” Stiles asked, closing his eyes. He didn’t know if Derek did the same. He liked to imagine he did.

“Laura did,” Derek told her. “And I… in my rage,” he said bitterly, slowly, and Stiles knew now his eyes were also closed, retreating to the darkness and isolation behind his eyelids, “I asked to be the whipper.” Derek’s voice broke, regret heavy in each word. “I… I thought you were another Kate,” he cracked out, “And it made me so angry that I’d been duped twice.”

Stiles opened his mouth to speak, but Derek continued. “Kate… Kate convinced me to kill my own men. She threatened the lives of my parents. I saw a lot of myself in you.” Derek took another breath. “I should have known better, that you would not betray me like that. I should have trusted you. I should have been by your side, like Scott was.” A sob broke from his mouth, and Stiles opened his eyes.

Tears poured down the wolf’s face. “I knew the dangers of using my anger as an anchor. I thought it would carry me safely through this time, and I nearly lost you instead. And when I thought it was all for naught, that it didn’t matter and I had killed you, Scott found me, assuring me of your feelings.”

The human’s hand reached for Derek’s head, and Derek nuzzled against it, still sobbing. “I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I’m so sorry, Stiles.” He continued crying, never taking more than what Stiles offered, head bowed against the edge of the bed.

He never asked for Stiles’s forgiveness. Like he didn’t expect it. It made much more sense why Derek had been dutifully taking care of him- of repentance. His desire to make things right.

Stiles kept his hand there until the sobbing quieted, Derek’s voice turning into hiccups as his breathing normalized, as his eyes went from squished and sad to neutral and relaxed. Stiles breathed in. For the first time, he’d seen Derek fall asleep.

He debated waking the weary, exhausted lord. But he didn’t feel so uneasy with his face to Derek like this, and the bed was soft, and he was tired. Derek wouldn’t join him, he knew. So Stiles withdrew his hand and tucked himself in, putting a pillow underneath Derek’s head for the lord.

“I loved you,” Stiles whispered, and the words rang true, clear as glass and somehow just as cold, just as broken.

 

***

 

Sometime in the middle of the night Derek had retreated to the bench, because when Stiles woke up he could hear the wolf snoring, yet he couldn’t feel the heat of the lord’s body anywhere around him. Stiles sighed, his bladder full and pulsing inside him, signaling it would not wait for someone to wake and help him to the toilet. For a moment, he thought about pissing in Derek’s bed, but it seemed so juvenile and he didn’t want to keep sleeping in his own urine.

To the toilet it was, then. Weakly he crawled to the edge of the bed, rolling onto his side and then his legs. Each step took a while, muscles weak from weeks of disuse.

When he came back, Derek had stopped snoring, but still remained on the bench. Stiles made it to the bed before falling over. He didn’t yet trust his back to not hurt, so he plopped onto his stomach.

“You’re doing that thing when you’re awake but you’re pretending to sleep,” Stiles muffled into the bedspread, moving his head to the side. “What are you thinking?”

Derek didn’t respond for a while. Stiles had given up when Derek’s raspy, dark voice rumbled through the room, heavy with sleep. “I’m glad you let me stay,” finally, is all he said. Stiles didn’t believe it- mainly because he was also picturing how most of their mornings went- kissing, hugging, passionate sex.

It felt sick to think of Derek now. Stiles felt the tears prick at his eyes.

“I’ll go,” Derek informed him, sitting upright. Of course the wolf could smell his distress. “Do you need me to get Scott? Or Deaton?” Stiles shook his head, reaching out his hand lamely. He wanted comfort, and he knew Derek would give it.

Instantly Derek was by his side, not behind him, holding his hand tightly. He didn’t say a word, just held Stiles’s hand as Stiles felt exhaustion and sadness wave over him again and again, finally finding the words that lived inside his chest.

“Do you hate me?” Stiles asked, and Derek shook his head, his face holding tears of his own again.

“No,” Derek whispered, placing the softest kiss to Stiles’s hand. “You should dress warmly today,” he added, and Stiles remembered that night, the first night he’d felt the electricity between them. Somehow it remained silver in his mind, lit by the moon. Derek continued. “When you were sick,” he continued, “You kept babbling apologies.”

Stiles shut his eyes. He should have known. They weighed heavily on him now.

“You have done nothing wrong,” Derek continued. “I betrayed this pack more than you ever could.” He squeezed Stiles hand gently, setting it back down on the bed. Stiles nodded. The words were what he needed to hear.

“I…I know I have ruined everything,” Derek whispered again, hand running through Stiles’s hair. When Stiles flinched, Derek’s eyes grew sad. He moved to kiss Stiles’s hand one more time, but thought the better of it and sat Stiles’s hand down. “I’m sorry,” the wolf repeated.

Numb, Stiles watched as he stood. He watched as Derek grabbed his clothes and went for the door. Once Derek was out of sight, Stiles breathed in. Good. It was good Derek had left. He had… he had time now. Space. He had space to figure everything out.

Derek wasn’t coming back, and Stiles felt safe. And guilty that he felt safe. And guilty that he felt guilty.

Suddenly a couple of servants entered the room. The wolf must have sent for them. Food and drink and clean clothes were set on the table, and they left just as quickly, letting Stiles take care of himself.

Stiles groaned as he got of the bed, gingerly walking to the food. At least he had an appetite. He nibbled at some bread.

Scott wasn’t too far behind the servants when he entered. Stiles waved at him as he nibbled on toast, and Scott frowned, but still somewhat pleased at Stiles’s appetite. The moment he caught wind of Derek, though, his eyes bled red, angry.

It took him a few moments to say something, though. In fact, it took all of breakfast (“You’re eating, Stiles!”) and all of the preparation for bathing and wasn’t until he’d started washing Stiles’s back that he said something. On the upside, at least he’d let Stiles keep his pants on this time.

“He stayed here,” Scott growled as he washed Stiles back gently. “Did he…” his voice trailed off, too angry for words. His hand slapped the water, though. Clearly Scott was not too angry for action.

“He slept on the bench. Passed out crying. Didn’t touch me,” Stiles murmured, his left hand still tingling, though Stiles liked to think it was because of the warmth around him. “Perfect gentleman, you know, aside from the whipping.” The anger dripped out of his voice.

Scott didn’t catch it or ignored it, in favor of sighing in relief instead. “Deaton wants to inspect you today,” he murmured. “I think you’re almost healed, really. We can stop pouring on herbs.” He continued scrubbing.

Stiles gave a mock pout. “Aww, I’ll miss their stinging sensations,” he joked, and Scott scrubbed just a little too hard. “Ow. Jerk.”

His best friend laughed. “Well, couldn’t be too kind. Met with Laura again yesterday. Have to prove my alpha-ness.” Scott placed the cloth on the side of the bath, done. He moved around to Stiles’s front, sitting down and enjoying the warmth for himself.

Stiles moved a little, tiny hops as he tried to get some extra work to make up for the weeks of atrophied muscles. No more struggling to the bathroom for him. “Oh? What’d she have to say?”

Scott shrugged. “She taught me about alpha voice. That’s exciting. Means I can now tell Peter to stop it with those creepy moves.” Scott paused. “He tried again at dinner. In front of Laura.” He caught Stiles’s eye, something dark and afraid inside it.

No good. It wouldn’t do Scott any good to freak right now. “See?” Stiles said, lightheartedly. “Always listen to me. Always.” It’d be a good enough distraction.

“Yeah,” Scott said, resting his head against the fountain, exposing his neck to his friend. “Hey Stiles?”

“Yeah?” Stiles asked, and Scott leaned forward, catching his eyes. Stiles kept bouncing, though.

Scott exhaled slowly. “I’m glad you’re alive,” he whispered.

Happiness flooded through him, a light whimsical feeling that he hadn’t felt in such a long time. “Yeah,” he murmured, taking in what he expected to be his final moments in this wonderful warm bath. “Me too.” He turned to Scott, smiling broadly. “Let’s go see Deaton." 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic death scene at the end~

It was the first time Stiles had gone to the infirmary with Scott. It was kind of strange, actually, with his best friend there. Though Scott had probably spent more time with Deaton than Stiles had (and that was saying something), it didn’t quite feel completely comfortable as they made their way down one hallway and up the other.

Granted, Scott’s sad face might have been related to Stile’s weak steps. Scott swung the door open, helping Stiles inside and leading the human to a small alcove in the back, fitted with a waist-size bed that had more covers than Stiles had ever seen on an infirmary bed.

“What’s this? Long-term care?” Stiles asked, taking a seat on the bed. Scott patted his shoulder sympathetically. Stiles was too tired to panic about how lost Scott seemed in the moment. “This…uh,” Scott sighed, trying to find the words to explain. “This is your new cell. Bedding and stuff. There’ll be guards on each side of the curtain at night, if you need anything. Or you know, if you attempt to go wandering off.” Scott pointedly looked away from Stiles’s eyes.

“Transitional?” Stiles asked, hoping this was simply because he was wounded and weak because this was going to get very lonely, very quick if it wasn’t.

“Unfortunately, no,” Deaton said from behind the two, marking his appearance. “Despite your being a Second, Mr. Stilinski, Laura has requested you remain out of sight and away from the other slaves until the war is over.” He entered the room, keeping the curtain open this time and looked Stiles over. At least Deaton didn’t have a worried face.

Shit, Stiles thought. Was he ever going to be allowed to see the other pack?

“On the other hand,” Scott added quickly, “Once the war is over our pack is free!” He smiled brightly, trying to encourage Stiles.

“What?” Stiles stopped. “You… You said I was free, Scott.” He glared at his best friend. “You meant free from the dungeon, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

Scott shrugged, continuing to avoid Stiles’s eyes. “Part of the deal with Laura. I didn’t want you to freak out before we got here.”

Anger boiled within Stiles. “Scott, you can’t go making promises like that! You would have been fine saying, ‘I’ll keep the slaves from revolting’.”

Scott started to panic. “I had to do it to get you free,” Scott argued, his voice going high and desperate. “I talked to Laura. She agreed to teach me about being an Alpha and getting you out of there if I’d help keep the slaves placated and join Cora and Derek in battle. With an another Alpha there, you know, not just Ennis and Kali and the others, we can be a mighty force.” Scott grabbed his shoulder gently, making sure to only touch the side of it. “It’s not so bad. I get to learn things, you’re not imprisoned, and soon we’ll be free and we’ll get Beacon Hills when we are. We made an Alpha’s Promise.”

An Alpha’s promise, Stiles thought. Well then.  Stiles looked back at Scott. “Beacon Hills?” he asked quietly, remembering their home.

Scott nodded. “We’ll rebuild. We’ll give all the refugees a place to stay. With a pack of wolves, it shouldn’t be too hard.” He smiled. “We’ve got to take care of our own, soon, and we can’t do that if we’re all slaves still. So I bargained.”

Stiles lowered his head, the idea of home a lot to take in. If the war was won, they’d all be free- legitimately free, and they could rebuild. He could have a home again. There was nothing for him to take care of at home, but he could keep the town safe, like his father had. Stiles swallowed the lump building in his throat.

“But… winter is nearly over,” Stiles pushed, one last reality check before he succumbed to that dream. “Scott, the war could last another year or two.” He looked at Deaton. “Or has there been massive progress since I…” he trailed off.

Deaton shrugged. “The Argents have suffered massive losses,” Deaton began. “As if they’ve been fighting from within. An extra pack might help finish this war quickly.”

Scott nodded. “It’ll be over soon. A couple more battles, pushing Kate Argent’s faction back- if she falls then the other Argents will surrender. She’s their powerhouse.”

Stiles thought it over. “What happens if you die, Scott? Who inherits the pack?”

Scott’s brow frowned, and Deaton spoke. “Usually, that title would go to the Second, provided it was not a wolf who killed him.” Scott winced. It seemed he was still uncomfortable with the whole Alpha-powers thing. “But when the Second is a human… Few packs have human seconds. We aren’t quite sure what might happen in your pack. It’s possible you’d inherit the power, and the spark would lie dormant. It’s possible and more likely it’d go to the next wolf.”

Both of the slaves groaned. “Jackson would be a terrible leader,” Stiles whined. “Don’t die. Please.” He looked at Scott, giving the most serious look he could. “I don’t deserve to be Second to _Jackson_.”

“I’ll do my best,” Scott assured him.

Deaton motioned for the Alpha to stand up. “Let’s go ahead and check your back, Mr. Stilinski. You’ve had enough time to rest.” Scott helped Stiles out of his shirt, into a laying position across the bed. Deaton looked over his back, occasionally poking and prodding. “Well,” he commented. “I think it’ll heal on its own now,” he said finally.

Relief washed through Stiles. Thank the gods. Thank all of them, because that nightmare of fever and weakness and sickness was over. Scott looked just as relieved, and they shot each other small smiles. Even Deaton looked happy.

“However,” Deaton continued, “I’m going to have some exercises for you to do in the mornings, to ensure your back returns to its proper strength. When you’re finished, you need to report to me about how they felt, if you hurt anything, and then you’ll help me with taking an inventory of my medical supplies. On your feet,” Deaton added.

“Ok. Crazy morning workouts. Am I going to get super-abs?” Stiles might have been thinking about Derek’s abs in that moment. He’d like abs like that.

“You’ll get a fully functioning back, Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton replied, continuing on. Scott frowned, his face saying, “I thought it was funny”. Stiles thought it was funny, too.

“So in the afternoons, you are welcome to the library across the hall. In the mornings you will be here helping me. This way we can monitor your progress- your muscles will take a little while before they heal completely.” Deaton looked him over.

Stiles opened his mouth. “Minus the scarring,” Scott added quickly, making sure to answer Stiles’s question. “But man, I gotta tell Mom about some of the things Deaton did. We totally need to add a druid to our pack. He kept your back from falling apart. Literally.”

The human slave nodded, trying to take in everything. He wasn’t free yet. He’d be isolated from everyone. Well, unless they came to Deaton’s for healing, but the slaves didn’t. Only Stiles had, and that was because of Derek… He pushed that thought aside.

“Okay, well, let me say everything back to make sure I understand,” he pleaded, and Deaton opened his arms, giving Stiles the go-ahead.

Stiles swallowed. “Ok. Got it. I’m sleeping here. There’ll be guards.”

Scott nodded. “You’ll take your meals here, too,” Scott murmured sadly. “And I’ll be off training with all the other wolf-slaves, so I won’t be able to see you too often-“

“Wolf slaves?” Stiles frowned. “They’re sending you all?” The human moved upwards, though the sudden movement sent little sparks of pain in his back. “Scott, you said it was just you-“

“The Alpha has decreed any who fight for her may be freed after the war is over,” Deaton began. “A good way to stir up support and employ many more soldiers.”

Stiles inhaled. “Ok. Ok.” He exhaled. “I’m just a little confused. I’ve been out of it… what, a couple of weeks?”

“A month and a half,” Deaton confirmed, “more or less.”

Stiles nodded. “Okay. Well. My back is mostly healed, but I’ll have scarring.” Stiles looked up at Scott. “How… how bad was it?”

“You are lucky you had a druid helping take care of you, Mr. Stilinski,” was all Deaton offered, and Stiles just nodded again. Didn’t want to know.

“Alright. Thanks for that. Eternally. Total thanks.” He gave a nod towards Deaton while saying it, and the Druid nodded, accepting Stile’s gratitude. Stiles paused. “I’m freed from the dungeon, at least, not the slavery thing, because I’m a member of Scott’s pack and he begged and strong-armed his way into a deal?”

Deaton nodded. “Yes. Though,” he added, “the letter might have been enough. Your official excuse is ‘precedent’, which for you, is the case Lord Derek had before Laura several years ago. He was tricked and blackmailed by Kate, and excused by the Alpha. Thus, when you were tricked and blackmailed by Kate, Laura had to excuse you as well. Scott didn’t really change much after the letter, but he did add… pressure, shall we say, to sway her decision, and to give more benefits to your pack.”

“She was desperate to do anything that would keep Derek from going feral,” Scott added, helping Stiles sit up. “He was beside himself. He didn’t know if you loved him, he didn’t know if you cared, or if you were another Kate, or-“

“Not talking about Derek, Scott,” Stiles cut him off coldly. The words refused to go away, just like they had earlier, festering deep inside his gut. Luckily, Scott was there with serious things to keep him focused.

“Okay,” Scott said quietly, agreeing not to bring it up. “But I told her all about you, your dad, your life under Kate’s thumb, so she knows how much Kate would have affected you as well. She knew you were just as much a prisoner of Kate as any wolf.”

Stiles felt his throat tighten at that. _What’s done is done_ , he decided. Scott saved him. He could forgive a couple of secrets coming into light.

Deaton placed a hand on Stiles’s shoulder, trying to reassure him. “When Alpha McCall became Alpha, those closest to him joined his pack. And as a new pack, the Hales have offered to take you in and teach you about the ins and outs of being a pack. Since you are the Second, Mr. Stilinski, you have a lot to learn, and thus, Laura thinks it best if you spend your time in the library, learning about pack intricacies for the day your pack is on its own.”

“And it keeps me away from the others,” Stiles added bitterly. He looked up at Deaton, who didn’t seem to want to argue the point.

“It does have multiple bonuses, yes,” Deaton affirmed.

Stiles sighed, wanting badly to flop back on the bed and pull the covers up over his head and not talk to anybody. “I’m not allowed to see them?” The words sounded broken. He hadn’t… he hadn’t expected to see anybody again, but now that he wasn’t allowed to, when they were physically here…

It hurt.

“No,” Scott said sadly. “Laura doesn’t… trust you.” He looked upset, giving Stiles big puppy dog eyes in apology. “I trust you though,” he added softly.

Stiles patted his shoulder. “You’re the only Alpha that matters to me, Scott,” he assured his best friend. Scott beamed at the words. “So don’t worry about it too much. I’ll live.” Scott’s beaming face died down. “If you don’t mind though, I’d like to maybe lie down. Think about things. Nap. All that walking and talking wore me out.”

Scott nodded and Deaton left, leaving a book and paper on a small little table next to the bed. Scott helped Stiles into the bed, pulling the curtain shut. Within a few moments the steady footsteps of guards clomped in, though Stiles couldn’t see them through the curtain.

Great. Guards for everything. It was still better than his cell, he supposed. And better than Derek’s room, at least for the fact he didn’t have to think of Derek in this tiny room. Even if he’d probably be thinking of Derek a lot anyway.

He stretched just a little, just enough to try and ease the soreness from his back, thankful that whatever magic Deaton had had kept it from damaging too badly. He probably would have died without the druid. He could only lift his back so far- bending was still a little too tight- but he stretched on, moving around until he felt exhausted. He let his eyes close.

Laura had pardoned him. He knew that already, and he knew Scott had found the letter. But Derek… part of him cursed himself for cutting Scott off. He wanted to know what Derek was doing, how he’d reacted. How Derek had helped. If Derek still cared.

But then, not knowing meant he didn’t have to think about it, Stiles remembered, and let the exhaustion ebb and flow until it overtook him.

 

***

 

The sleep was light. Each new footfall roused Stiles, keeping him from sleeping too deeply. That was alright, he supposed. It was good to just rest, if need be.

There weren’t any doors in the clinic save for the big one, so sound echoed around. Useless things like “How do I keep the mountain ash from burning” and “She’s doubling over, oh god” or “Where do the footfalls come from” and “how is he”.

Maybe he imagined some of those. It all seemed like stupid stuff anyway.

A deep voice jerked Stiles into admitting wakeness, talking in hushed tones. “I… I need advice,” the voice uttered pitifully, and something clacked on the table, like Deaton had set something down.

Deaton’s voice sounded out through the room like warm butter or sunshine. Stiles felt sleep pull at him again. “What troubles you, guard Boyd?”

Feet shifted. Silence weighed the whole infirmary down as Boyd struggled on what he wanted to say. “How do you know if you’re in love?” He cautiously decided as his question. Stiles remained still, painfully still, and decided against asking the two to move somewhere that was not the outside of his curtain. He doubted Boyd would keep talking if he knew Stiles was listening. Oh, boy, did Stiles ever want to listen.

Besides, Boyd in love? Boyd didn’t seem like the kind of guard to be in love. He was always no-nonsense, even when Erica was clinging to him, giddy after a day of training. Or when Isaac was whining to him, or when younger guards would trip into him comically and shit themselves as they realized what they’d just done.

“Is there someone you have in mind?” Deaton inquired, but Boyd only took a couple of steps instead of answering the question. A chair grated along the floor as Boyd pulled it out, probably sitting down.

“A girl,” the guard began, still speaking softly. “I can’t stop thinking about how wonderful she is,” he added. His voice didn’t sound gruff at all when he spoke. Strange.

“Kind?” Deaton offered.

Boyd snorted. “Not really.” He sighed. “I can’t… She’s a great guard. A crazy good solider. She took out more than forty men when we went to Beacon Hills. And she always has a place for me, no matter how angry she is or how tired or anything.” He paused. “She’s a great friend. My best friend.”

Stiles breathed. She sounded like a great lady. Kind of like Lydia maybe, but with including Boyd into her activities. Stiles never got included in any activities with Lydia. Other than the ignoring activity, but Stiles preferred to think of it as not being on the radar rather than active ignoring.

“I… I don’t want to ruin or friendship,” Boyd continued. “She’s one of the few friends I have.” He tapped the edge of the desk. “But when she flirts with other guys… I get jealous.” He groaned. “I mean, I shouldn’t. She’s not mine. But…”

Stiles could relate to that. Memories of jealousy at Jackson surfaced and Stiles empathized.

Deaton took in a breath, thinking. If there was one thing Stiles had learned, it was that Deaton was contemplative. “Well,” he murmured, “There are a lot of complications. You’re both heading out soon, aren’t you?”

“Different companies,” Boyd agreed.

“I suppose it’s a question of if you think the friendship will last,” Deaton admitted. “But if you’re already feeling jealous, it’s possible things are already going downhill.” He breathed in. “It’s up to you, if you think it’s worth risking,” he stated simply.

Stiles fell back asleep on that.

A risk worth taking, he repeated in his mind.

 

***

 

Scott came to visit for dinner, stuck somewhere between eating and studying up healing stuff from Deaton’s books. He brought Stiles a couple of cooked rabbits, holding the meat in a container. “It’ll be tasty,” he assured Stiles.

“It looks greasy,” Stiles murmured, unsure. “How’d you get it, anyway?”

Scott shrugged. “Kali was teaching me. She’s the leader of one of the guest packs, helping hunt down the Argents. They’re from the north.” Scott placed the meat on a plate of rice, handing it back to Stiles. “Most of the warlords are from other packs, but they’ve come to help since the Hale pack is strong. Old alliances and whatnot.” He looks a little sheepish. “I , uh, I kind was wondering if you could…”

“Totally looking into old alliance treaties tomorrow, Scott,” Stiles assured him, patting his hand. “Don’t you worry.”

“Great,” Scott replied. “I feel so stupid a lot of the time. They’re all born wolves. They know so many things that I don’t.” He sighed. “It’s a lot like being with a pack of Lydias.”

Scoffing, Stiles took a bite of rice and swallowed. “Nothing is like that strawberry-blonde-haired goddess, thank you very much. Learn anything else, other than how to kill rabbits?”

Scott frowned. “We weren’t just killing rabbits,” he argued. “Apparently Alphas can reach into people’s minds. I can see memories or block them or unblock them. So we were using rabbits, because their minds are much weaker than a person’s.” He huffed. “She said I was really good.”

Block memories? Stiles frowned. He didn’t even know an Alpha could do something like that. Maybe… he wondered if Scott could block his memories. Maybe Scott would-

“But it’s risky. I think I killed like twenty rabbits trying.” Scott continued chewing the rabbit, trying to steal a bit of Stiles’s own when he thought Stiles wasn’t looking. Stiles let him.

That plan disappeared. No way he’d go through with it now. He loved Scott like a brother, but he wanted to live, thank you very much.

Scott munched on his own rice for a moment. “How was your day?” he asked helpfully.

Stiles shrugged. Bad idea, the action hurt. Wincing, he replied, “Sore. Tired. Mostly slept all day.”  Nothing really incredible. He also felt eavesdropping was a terrible thing to admit to, so boring day it was.

Scott shrugged, not pressuring Stiles to say anymore. “Tomorrow you’re headed to the library?” he asked, referencing Stiles’s earlier comment. Scott seemed surprised.

“Deaton’s getting tired of my chatter already,” Stiles commented. “I talk more than anyone else who comes in. He probably just wants some peace and quiet.” Though Stiles knew he could hear them, Deaton refused to rise to the bait in the other room, remaining silent.

Scott laughed. “You never bring peace and quiet,” he began, and Stiles flicked some rice at him.

Just like old times.

 

***

 

The library was peaceful. And quiet.

Nobody bothered him. The library was lonely.

Stiles was glad to return to the infirmary, where Deaton awaited him each night.

Sometimes at night he’d think of hands around his, holding him tight, and let himself dream. It made him feel better, and he slept better when he felt better, and he always knew better in the morning.

 

***

 

It was a while before anything useful stirred Stiles from his light sleep. He had a notion of many people coming and going, but he started awake at a jar crashing onto the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Isaac’s voice came from behind the curtain. He sounded oddly panicked for such a small shatter, but maybe there was something like mountain ash or wolfsbane inside it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“

Deaton sighed. “Don’t be,” he assured. “Just some sage, Isaac. Accidents happen.” Stiles heard a couple of pats on Isaac’s shoulder, along with a soft inhale.

Stiles all too well knew that inhale- he’d done it so many times himself. It was a calming inhale of one trying to get a grip on themselves. “Let’s clean it up,” Deaton added, voice still soft.

Glass clinked and scratched against itself as the two men picked it up off the floor. Stiles started dozing off again at the sounds before the door swung open, slamming into the stone. Stiles awoke again with a silent curse on whomever had opened that door.

“Laura says I have to keep talking to you,” the sullen voice rang out, one Stiles knew all too well. “She says my anchor isn’t secure yet; I’m ‘still an emotional mess’.” The last part was mimicked quite accurately to Laura’s tonal patterns. Stiles gave Derek credit. Even he couldn’t mimic Laura that well.

“Lord Derek,” Deaton greeted with his normal, fluid “I have totally expected this situation” face, Stiles was sure. “I thought you said you were finished with my services.”

Derek sounded a little petulant. “Laura says until I get control of my new anchor, or choose one that isn’t ‘stupid as fuck’, I have to keep coming,” Derek began. “Um…” he trailed off. Stiles swallowed. Was Derek listening for him?

He tried to calm himself down, regulating his breathing. Hopefully Derek wouldn’t notice, and he wouldn’t come in, and Stiles could listen in on whatever it was they were going to say.

“Stilinski has been sleeping on and off today,” Deaton began. “It’s possible he could overhear us.” Damn him. Stiles kept his breathing steady.

Derek must have shrugged, because Deaton sighed. “It’s your choice,” he said in that tone of voice that suggested Derek was an idiot. “Let me be frank, Lord Derek. He’s a member of McCall’s pack. He’s not solely yours any longer. Any time one pack enslaves another, things get messy.”

“I know,” Derek said softly. “I know.”

Stiles didn’t know. He made a mental note to look that law up in the library tomorrow.

Deaton continued. “Your anchor right now is risky,” Deaton began. “It’s been done before, but it’s risky. Like your previous anchor.”

Derek sighed again. “I know that too.” Derek seemed defeated, breathing a couple of times. Finally, the wolf protested weakly. “Scott told me… about how much he loved me. About how much he cared about me. And if this is my anchor, I can’t hurt him again, can I?” The last couple of words seemed broken.

Stiles made a mental note to kill Scott. Kill him softly, quietly, and blame Peter for the mess. Some best friend Scott was.

And another note that Derek didn’t want to hurt him again. Somehow, that broken sound Derek made as he ended the sentence felt right. Derek hurt, just as much as Stiles did. And Derek didn’t want to keep hurting Stiles.

It was the smallest of joys.

Deaton’s silence spoke volumes, grounding both of them in reality.

“It’s not now,” Derek continued desperately, almost pleading, “It’s… when I first confronted him in the shadows, and he looked so much like me, and I wanted to protect him as he walked away. It’s that feeling, Deaton. I _know_ he doesn’t love me back now.”

Deaton studied the wolf, judging on the heavy weight in the quiet. “Do you?” he asked softly. “You didn’t visit him twenty times expressly against your Alpha’s wishes simply to see him to hope maybe he might say that he’s forgiven you now?”

Stiles startled. He had been sure most of those memories were various hallucinations.

Derek fell silent this time. “I don’t deserve forgiveness,” Derek finally answered pitifully, and it strained Stiles’s ears to hear.

“Why did you volunteer for that whip, Derek?” Deaton asked, and Derek inhaled.

This question. Stiles wanted to know this question. He felt just about as tense as Derek, wanting an answer. Derek let out a shaky breath before attempting.

“I can’t…” Derek let out a sob. “I can’t.” He sniffed a little, and Deaton leaned forward, the chair creaking under his weight.

“It’s my job to ask the hard questions,” Deaton began. “And to tell you my insights. I’m sorry if I go to far. You can tell me when you’re ready.”

Derek remained, occasional sobs breaking. Stiles wasn’t sure what to make of it. Part of him felt bad, wanted to wrap Derek up in a hug, remembering all of the kindness Derek had given him. The other part was glad Derek hurt, it meant Derek cared, and… Staying still would be best for now.

“No,” Derek hiccupped, “Not too far. I… I wanted to see him,” Derek continued. “It was my fault he was dying. So I did what I could, took his pain, gave my rooms and it brought me some sanity, some form of…”

“Of an anchor,” Deaton finished. “When you felt like you were helping Stilinski.” He breathed in, modeling his breath. Derek followed with his own shaky sobs. “Lord Derek. One more question: what if Stiles decides he doesn’t want a relationship with you?”

A good question. Stiles almost wondered if Deaton had asked it on his behalf. What would Derek do?

Derek inhaled. “I’d try and understand. I think… even if it hurt me, I’d know it was for the best for him. Maybe.” He breathed out. “I… I’ll think about it some more.”

Deaton patted Derek’s arm. “Good. I think, for today, we should end it- Stilinski might be up at any moment.” Oh shit, Stiles thought. Deaton knew. _He knew_.

“I understand,” came Derek’s weak voice, aimed at the direction of Stiles’s curtain. Stiles froze, not moving, but his eyes were itchy and wet. He hadn’t been hallucinating. Derek had taken pains to see him in jail, to take care of him. 

It was a relief to know Derek didn’t expect him back after all that. It was a relief to know Derek would keep his distance, let Stiles work it out, and Derek’s position was clear and Stiles hadn’t had to talk to Derek about feelings.

Maybe that made him a coward, but Stiles reveled in the space. There would be time to think things through. There were so many things wrong already, but Stiles had time and space to figure out what he wanted to do next.

 

***

 

The library was dusty again the next day, but different books were out. Probably Laura or Peter had gone through them, making sure he knew what to read. Or not, Stiles thought as he looked over one book. Maybe they were researching on their own.

He trailed his fingers down the cover of one book labeled “Pack Laws and Traditions”, a book with a dusty red cover. Stiles flipped it open, reading about Sambra, about the full moon festival in January, about how to deal with a pack that had two Alphas, how to greet other Alphas. Apparently running from a wolf was considered cowardly, and therefore doing so meant your life was forfeit.

He sat. It seemed interesting.

Stiles continued scanning the book. Alpha powers were granted in usually two ways: inherited upon an Alpha’s death, or taken from an Alpha you killed yourself. Stiles nodded to himself as he looked on the page carefully for a True Alpha. Finding it, he noted it mentioned what to do if there was a True Alpha in your pack- usually, a True Alpha didn’t inherit or steal power, which meant a whole lot more respect amongst the wolves. Alpha hood without death meant someone worthy of the gods. Stiles kept reading. True Alphas weren’t as strong or as fast as other Alphas, but people would inherently follow them as they tended to gain their own path. Their charisma wasn’t even rivaled by Alphas that could take on their third wolf-shape.

Stiles chewed his lip, worried about Scott. Even though he was a True Alpha, lots of people would be attempting to steal it- especially if he wasn’t as strong as other Alphas.

“You can read?”

Stiles jerked up at the question. Another slave looked at him. Probably a cleaner, Stiles reminded himself. “Uh, yeah. My Mom taught me,” he added quickly, looking at the guy. “Ah, you’re the guy who draws all those pictures,” he offered, not wanting to seem high and mighty due to his reading.

“That’s right, but I don’t read,” the slave said, his cross expression lightening. “You’ve seen me?”

“Sometimes you hang out with Jackson,” Stiles replied, thinking back on it. “You’re draw a lot of the slaves as they’re chatting. You’re really good,” Stiles added, hoping more flattery would stop this guy’s questions.

“Thanks,” the slave added. “Do you mind if I go up to the window? It’s kinda calming and it’s-“

“Go for it,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “I’m just reading.”

The slave moved away, tension in his shoulders gone, and Stiles kept reading. Near the end were some hand-made amendments- about plans on how to phase out slavery. He kept reading, turning the page about how to start saving income in order to pay the slaves. Eagerly, he turned the page. It seemed the Hales really had tried to get rid of this barbaric system.

But there _wasn’t_ a next page. Stiles checked his page profusely, but nothing was on the back. The page ended mid-sentence.

That couldn’t be right.

Stiles looked it over again and again, trying to see if the page had been moved, if the sentence was finished anywhere. But the nothing remained of the sentence in the heavy volume. From what Stiles had read, those laws and plans were brilliant, probably able to get rid of slavery without any fuss or economic turmoil. Now those plans were gone.

Stiles checked the page one more time, frustrated at a diagram on the other side instead of more sentences, but it continued to hold its secrets. He stroked a finger along the edge of the diagram, finger pressing into the binding.

Paper sliced into his skin. Stiles winced and placed the papercut into his mouth unthinkingly. This was why paper was dangerous, he told himself. Nothing good came of some tree-thing that cut you-

Stiles swallowed, pulling his finger out of his mouth and looking at the cut. A papercut from the inside the book? Gingerly he pressed on both ends of the book, exposing more of the binding.

Several pages had been cut out. If Stiles hadn’t pressed down on the book, he might not have known that they’d been removed.

Who could have removed the pages? Stiles frowned.

“Well, thanks man,” the slave commented, stepping down the steps from behind him. Stiles jerked upright at the sudden sound, half-turning in his seat to watch the slave come closer. “I’m Matt, by the way.” Matt held out his hand.

“Stiles,” he murmured, taking it. Right. Those things in the book didn’t concern him. He swallowed. “I’m assigned here, but feel free to drop by whenever,” he suggested.

It got really lonely by himself.

 

***

 

Deaton pushed him in the next few days. Stiles didn’t mind that he was pushed, it meant Deaton was working his Deaton-Druid magic or doctoring skills and helping Stiles’s back recover. But it did mean Stiles was exhausted everyday.

On the upside, Matt came to visit every day after the initial visit. They didn’t say much to each other, but sometimes Stiles would hand him some expired herbs to use for ink and Matt would bring him up wine from the kitchens, and that was enough.

It’d probably been a week and a half with Matt there, and already Stiles felt lighter. Sure, Matt wasn’t a friend or anything, but another body, one that wasn’t sick and who felt just as trapped as Stiles did- that was nice.

Matt opened the door to the dusty old library, flask in hand. Sometimes Stiles wondered what Matt did, but theirs was a relationship without questions. Matt didn’t ask, and neither did Stiles. Stiles traded him for some more herbs, and Matt smiled as he looked through the bag. “These will be an excellent yellow,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

He sat the flask down on Stiles’s desk.

“Thank _you_ ,” Stiles commented, picking up the wine and taking a drink. “This’ll go well with my ‘Many Poisonous Herbs and Scents’ and ‘Hale History volume 23’,” he said, using his best Harris voice. Matt gave a humorless laugh, clearly not finding Stiles funny.

But it didn’t matter. They were both lonely, so Stiles took the laughter anyway. Stiles turned back to his book, aware of Matt’s eyes on him, but he was reading about Laura III. The current Alpha was something like the 25th Laura because damn these Alphas died quickly, Stiles thought, though maybe that was due to the killing an Alpha to gain their power law/rule/werewolf fact of life.

Laura III’s life was boring. She inherited her power, and spent her days living in fear. She shut herself up in a tiny room, afraid of assassins and ruling. Stiles shrugged. That was the life you had when you were an Alpha, he supposed. Shape up or ship out. He turned the page, making sure there were other pages behind it.

Laura III died when she was eight.

Oh.

Sadness welled up inside him. No wonder she was so scared all the time. Her father had taken the power from her, and as Stiles read on, the mother of Laura III took her revenge on the father.

Laura III died when she was _eight_.

Stiles’s eyes felt heavy somehow. He was exhausted. That must have been it. He closed the book, resting his face on his arms.

The wineskin lay next to him.

 

***

 

Stiles was aware of someone carrying him. “Matt?” he asked, trying to remember where he was. Last he knew, he’d rested his head a little in the library.

“Said you passed out,” the gruff voice commented above him.

Stiles groaned. Of course Derek would be the one to find him. “Tired,” he explained, hoping that would soothe Derek out of whatever over-protectiveness he had going on. It’s not like he could ask Derek to leave- Derek was his owner, his master. Derek could command Stiles to fuck again and Stiles would have no choice in the matter.

Stiles took a breath, calming himself down. Derek wasn’t that sort of person. He’d sobbed that he didn’t want to hurt Stiles again.

The words felt a little more hollow than they should have. Derek had often talked about trying to be equal before, of not wanting to hurt Stiles before.

And ruined it all when he whipped him.

 _No_ , Stiles thought, _I save this crisis for later._ He shut his eyes, trying to relax.

“We’re almost there,” Derek assured him. “I… Peter was there, commenting something about how tired you must be, and he was… leering.” He seemed just as uncomfortable as Stiles was. “I…I’m sorry. Peter commanded it, and I couldn’t refuse a command from him.”

Peter? Stiles frowned. He didn’t remember Peter being there. Matt was there, though. Derek continued. “I…” his voice trailed off for a moment. “We’re here.” He set Stiles down and opened the door, not following when Stiles walked into the familiar room. Deaton waited for him.

“Stilinski,” he greeted, looking somewhat relieved. “Thank you, Lord Derek.” Stiles looked at Derek as the door shut, but Derek was long gone.

Stiles winced as he walked over to Deaton, Deaton already checking him over for signs of weakness. “I fell asleep in the library,” he explained. “I’m sorry.”

“Derek carried you home?” Deaton looked just as surprised as he did. Stiles’s face must have betrayed his frustrated emotions. “His choice?”

Stiles shook his head. “He said Peter commanded it,” Stiles said, sighing. “He didn’t seek me out.” He bit his lip, and Deaton motioned to a chair at the front of his desk, within sight of Stile’s room. This must have been where he consoled everybody.

Deaton continued speaking. “Stiles, I know we usually talk in the mornings, but if you want…”

Stiles sat, eyes following Deaton to his desk. “Yeah. So. Derek.” He sighed, not really wanting to talk, not knowing what to say, but wanting something out of him.

“Derek.” Deaton repeated kindly.

Stiles sighed. “Where do I start?”

“I think,” Deaton began, “And correct me if I’m wrong, but you were in love with Derek at one point, yes?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Stiles agreed readily. It was the past. It was true. He could say that. “But… there were problems. I mean, as much as he treated me well, he had to summon me. I couldn’t go see him. Laura had to send me to him. I wasn’t even…” he paused. “It felt like we were the same in the bedroom. That what I wanted was worth just as much as what he wanted. He even promised to get Laura involved if I needed proof about being ‘equals’.” Stiles took a breath, unable to voice what he thought next.

Stiles swallowed. “But then he whipped me, and he threw all that away. It was like… they were just silly, empty words. We weren’t equal. We’ll never be equal. He tried to kill me and it was _justified_. Nobody would have batted an eyelash.”

Deaton tilted his head a little, still listening.

“I can’t… He’s always going to have power over me, when I’m here. It doesn’t matter if I need to take a break or if I need time to heal, but he’s always in the corners, always watching over me, always looming and I can’t get that time.” Stiles shivered. “What if he whips me again? How do I know that he won’t?”

Deaton took in a breath, thinking. “Well. Wolves are extremely possessive of those they are fond of,” he began, and when Stiles protested he held up a hand, “But his Alpha has told him to back off. If he’s not backing off, I can let her know.”

Stiles thought about it. “He’s… it was Peter. Peter gave him the command.”

Deaton wrote it down. “I’ll let the Alpha know he’s interfering with you and Derek, then.” He finished, looking up at Stiles. “As for how you know, I don’t think you can know. It takes time for a man to change, if they’re willing.” Deaton inhaled again. “And it’s up to you to decide if you think Derek’s willing.”

Stiles breathed in. How would he know?

“But wolves are dangerous, Stiles,” Deaton added just as quickly. “There will always be a danger to you. You and I, we’re human, guided by logic and rational thought. Wolves are far more in tune to their instincts. Rarely do you see them as logical leaders.”

Stiles nodded. None of the rulers he’d read about so far were that logical.

“And with Derek being possessive and illogical, well, yes. It’s possible if you make him angry, he may attack you again.” Deaton’s eyes were somewhat cold. These were not the words Stiles wanted to hear.

The honesty was refreshing, though.

“He _may_ attack me?” Stiles asked somewhat bitterly. “That’s a risk I’ll have to have forever?”

“Exactly. It takes faith to keep a relationship once it has been broken.”

Stiles scoffed. “That’s just it. We weren’t in a relationship,” he said softly. Words bubbled up inside him, but he couldn’t speak them. _I was just his nightly companion. He ordered me to come and I went_. Or others ordered them together, and Stiles had to go.  Tears started welling up. “How… how do I fix a relationship if it was broken to begin with?”

There wasn’t an answer from Deaton, probably because Stiles knew the answer in his heart. He just sat and cried, knowing what had once given him warmth and calm was now going to torment him for a long while.

 

***

 

Scott came to say goodbye. The battle wouldn’t be a last push, and the soldiers would probably be cycled around from this point on, but he was in Derek’s team and they were going to try as hard as they could to keep the Argents away. Scott might not be back for weeks. Or ever.

Scott smiled at Stiles. “Laura promised us Beacon Hills, Stiles. Our pack will win it for sure.”

Stiles smiled back, walking around with his Alpha. It felt weird, knowing he would be in charge of the pack if Scott died. Or Jackson. Stiles scowled at that thought.

“Oh, man,” Stiles added after saying these thoughts to Scott, “Please don’t die. I don’t think I could deal with being Jackson’s _second_.”

Scott laughed, ruffling Stiles’s hair. “Don’t worry,” he assured Stiles. “Magical Alpha. I’m sure I’ve got bonus healing or something to make up for all the danger I’ll be in.” They sat on unused beds, staring at each other for a while before Scott had that look in his eye.

That look. The one he used to _meddle._ The one where he thought he had something important to say about true love or something and was going to steamroll all over Stiles’s opinions on the matter.

“Drop that look, Scott,” Stiles warned. “Last time you had that you told Lydia that I liked her, and let me remind you how that turned out.”

“It’s just-“ Scott began, but he didn’t get another chance to speak.

“No,” Stiles interrupted. “Scott, no. No, no, no. No.” He held up a finger. “I’m not going to have this talk.”

Scott dropped his arms against the bed, slumping his shoulders down. “You were so happy,” he began.

“Before he whipped me to death,” Stiles slapped back, “hello, did you forget that, because I fucking didn’t! Scott, you were there, you saw-“ He trailed off. “Not having this talk,” he finished sullenly.

Scott sighed, rubbing his arm. “But I know he also worked hard to keep you alive, Stiles. Like, he got you moved from the dungeon. He kept taking your pain. He was up for a whole day and night just sucking the pain from you. He kept freaking out when guards wouldn’t update him with information, and then freak out when they did. I’m pretty sure he snuck out to see you _against his Alpha’s orders_ twenty times or something. Stiles, the look on his face when I told him how much you loved him-“

“I know all this, Scott,” Stiles said quietly. It was the truth, and Scott would hear that. “It’s my decision to make, Scott, and I don’t want you to tell me what I should or should do. I’m _afraid_ of him, Scott. I’m terrified.”

Scott fell silent in surprise. He mouthed why, but didn’t say it.

Stiles continued. “I… You remember what it’s like to be human, yeah? We’re so much weaker than a wolf. And here, it doesn’t matter what I say or do, I have to do it for them. A human slave is about as low on the food chain as you can get.” Scott’s eyes fell away, knowing all too well what Stiles meant. “Derek spoke pretty promises, saying I was equal, saying he loved me. But when it came down to it, he used that power against me- I was a slave again, an enemy. If he was so in love with me at the time, why’d he treat me like… that?”

The question remained heavy in the air. Scott took a couple of breaths, thinking, weighing some sort of decision on his mind. “Maybe he thought you were like Kate?” Scott offered.

Stiles scoffed, but the words sunk deeper than he intended.

“You’re right,” Scott added, “I’m not… I shouldn’t tell you what to do. If you’re afraid, then there’s no way you should be in a relationship.” He paused. “I wasn’t trying to say Derek wasn’t in the wrong. He totally was. Even Laura punished him afterwards for that.”

That was surprising. The idea that Laura punished Derek on his behalf? Stiles looked closely again at Scott, but Scott didn’t have his lying face on. Stiles would know. It was a terrible lying face.

“Wolves… There are things we see differently from humans,” Scott continued. “Disobeying your Alpha is a huge flag. It’s like… turning away from your instincts.” He swallowed, realizing where he was going. “But you’re right,” he added softly, smiling up at Stiles. “It’s not a real relationship when you’re at his beck and call. Or anybody else’s.”

Stiles reached over and squeezed his hand. “Thank you,” he said softly, knowing Scott was probably the only Alpha who would ever back down and admit when he was wrong. “I know you’re trying to do what’s best for me, Scott, but this is my decision to make. I’m afraid of him,” Stiles said again.

“I’m sorry,” Scott said. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.” He really was. His body sagged, his shoulders slumped, but he changed the subject. “We’ll win the war before the spring, and we’ll figure out what to do later, yeah?”

Stiles nodded. Yeah. That sounded good. They could go home, and rebuild.

They said their goodbyes and hugged tightly, Scott heading out with a sad little smile on his face. Scott and Derek would go to fight the Argents tomorrow and Stiles would remain here. Saying goodbye never got any easier.

Stiles retreated to his room and just lay, thinking of what they’d do after they won. They’d rebuild Beacon Hills. Maybe Derek would come visit. Stiles winced at the thought- it felt warm.

Foolishly he allowed himself to imagine a time where Derek would visit and maybe they’d go to the creek together, splashing water at each other until Derek had Stiles pinned down, safe, just like all those times before and it hurt, gods, it hurt so much because it wasn’t real despite what Scott said and Stiles wanted it to be real.

It would never be real.

His back ached.

 

***

 

A week letter of present exchanges with Matt and terrible pain-inducing stretches (Deaton assured him they were the good kind), Stiles had a visitor in the morning. Greenberg.

The human smiled, holding up a hammer. “Deaton made a request to get something fixed,” Greenberg stated happily. “I volunteered to go.” He waved the hammer around nervously.

Stiles smiled in return, taking a few steps back to ensure he was out of the hammer’s reach. “I’ve got my stretches to do,” he told Greenberg, “But after, maybe we can hang out?”

“Okay,” Greenberg agreed, but continued standing where he was, smiling brightly.

Too brightly. Stiles ventured a guess. “There wasn’t a request, was there?” Greenberg’s face answered the question for him.

“Officially, no,” Greenberg said, confirming Stiles’s suspicions. “But Finstock sent me over here anyway.” He sat over on a spare bed, motioning for Stiles to join him.

Stiles sighed. “My stretches,” he explained pitifully. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to have Greenberg’s company. But he felt weird doing his stretches in front of someone other than Deaton. Greenberg didn’t seem phased by Stiles’s hesitation, probably not even picking up on the awkward vibe in the air.

“Oh, uh, I’ve got news. Official news. They’ve pushed the Argents back,” Greenberg reported quickly. “Beyond the pass. Do… do you think they’ll win?”

Stiles got onto the floor, proceeding to stretch out his back little by little. “Can’t really talk right now, Greenberg.” He wiggled a bit to make himself even- his left side always scrunched up when he laid down.

“I mean, if they win, we get to go home,” Greenberg began, a little more somberly. “But there isn’t a home anymore. What happens to the refugees? Do they come home, too?"

Stiles didn’t bother to answer. This was clearly one of those times Greenberg was asking questions to himself. Besides, Stiles didn’t know the answers. He figured Scott and Laura had talked that over.

“Do you know how big our territory would be?” Greenberg asked, “We’d be such a small little pack, the Hales could take us over at any time.”

“They won’t,” Stiles broke in, grunting as he lifted his torso up and down as much as he could. It wasn’t much, but it was progress. “Alpha promise. And nobody wants to mess with a True Alpha. Too many legends. Too many complications. If Laura breaks her word with Scott, it looks bad for all the other leaders.”

Greenberg titled his head to the side. “You’ve been researching?”

Stiles nodded, weighing whether or not to throw of his shirt. “Yeah. Lots of the elite are actually from other packs. The guard are all Hale pack, though, which means the elite are outnumbered if they try anything.” He took a breath quickly. “Besides, it’s all ruined land now- too much effort and money for Laura to spend patching it up.” Another breath after a particularly hard stretch. “In the end, I think Laura will send the refugees back to our town once it’s fixed up- I don’t think she wants to feed them or deal with the influx of sudden people.”

Stiles collapsed on the floor, spent. He really needed a shower now, but there were five more exercises to go through. “How’s Danny? And Jackson?”

Greenberg shrugged. “They’re fine. Both worried about you. Danny seems to be talking Jackson out of doing stupid things. Though Danny was really angry at Jackson for admitting he found the key.”

“Couldn't’ be helped,” Stiles replied, though he also wished it had never happened. Then maybe he’d still be in Derek’s room instead of healing from Derek’s wounds. “If I thought there was a chance I’d die from something someone else did, I’d turn them in.”

Greenberg watched him carefully, unsure of what to say to that. Stiles moved on to the next activity, one that didn’t involve staring at Greenberg. “Danny keeps telling Jackson to stay in Scott’s pack. Not to leave. But when Jackson jumped up at the opportunity for going to war to help Scott, Danny didn’t speak to Jackson for days.”

Stiles exhaled. “’S dangerous,” was all he managed before his lungs yelled at him for being stupid and using them for anything that was not breathing.

“Yeah. All the wolves from our unit joined up with Scott. So now Danny and I are the only ones left in our room. It’s lonely, sometimes.” Greenberg looked sad. “We miss you.”

Stiles smiled. It was nice to be missed. “Even though I put your lives in danger?” he asked, flipping over.

“Yeah,” Greenberg told him. “You ended up making up for it though,” he added almost shyly.

“How?” Stiles asked, frowning, intently looking at the other human. “How do you make up for that?”

Suddenly he wasn’t seeing himself. He was seeing Derek, flicking the whip thirty times. How could he make up for that?

Greenberg shrugged. “Something Finstock mentions. You took responsibility.” He lay back on the bed, enjoying the feel of a soft, giving mattress. “When you took the blame, you were making up for your actions. You protected Scott. You ensured none of us could be implicated.”

“Hmm,” Stiles said, taking it in. He let it go soon enough- he’d moved on to his third exercise and his mind was getting tired of thinking. “Fair enough. How is Finstock, by the way?”

“Oh,” Greenberg added, “He’s dreamy.” His face was red and his eyes sparkled. It was enough love to make Stiles puke. How on earth had the rest of them put up with Stiles as he went through it?

“Glad it’s going well,” Stiles commented offhandedly between sets. “Have you told him, yet?”

Greenberg shook his head, though Stiles more noted the lack of enthusiasm. “Sometimes he pats me on the head and tells me ‘Good job’,” Greenberg murmured. “I always feel tingly after that.” He sighed. “It doesn’t feel right. We’re going to be leaving soon, and besides, he’s in charge of me.”

“Make your move once the Hales win,” Stiles suggested, and the words felt too real, too honest for some reason. He stopped his stretches, unable to continue.

It felt too real. Make your move.

Luckily, Greenberg drove on, not noticing any of Stiles’s inner confusion. “That’s a great idea!” Greenberg shouted. “I can totally do that! I can leave him little notes, or maybe I should just show up in his bedroom, and be like, ‘You are totally the best boss ever, take me now’.”

Stiles winced. Greenberg would say something like that. “Maybe not so direct,” Stiles offered. “Or fewer words.”

Greenberg nodded. “Of course. I’ll just start stripping my clothes off.”

Stiles sighed hopelessly, combined with a low chuckle- he didn’t mind this sort of distraction, a friendly Greenberg talking about problems. He didn’t mind it at all.

 

***

 

Matt was there at the library again, another flask of wine for Stiles. Stiles held his own up. “Got some for you too, buddy,” he offered. Matt took it, taking a sip.

“You got the good stuff,” he commented. “My gifts must be shit.” Matt took an extra long sip, looking out the window. Stiles looked out with him. “Laura’s usually there by now,” Matt commented.

“Oh?” Stiles asked uncomfortably. Matt looked at him.

“I’m not stalking her or anything,” he began carefully. “She’s just pretty.”

Stiles winced. “Last I saw her… I think I was still recovering from the wounds her brother gave me,” he explained.

Matt’s face went from defensive to sympathetic in an instant. Stiles continued. “Totally doesn’t bother me that you notice her, dude, good on you. But I’m going to stay with my books today. Look into what the laws say about changing packs.” Stiles gestured to the books with his thumb.

Matt paled in front of him.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked, puzzled, turning his head around and oh.

Peter Hale looked back at him, smiling gently, his face holding no warmth. Maybe it had been burned out of him, Stiles thought coldly. He still didn’t trust Peter, even if Peter did push for Laura to forgive Stiles.

“A good law to look into,” Peter said in front of him cold and slowly. His calculating voice, Stiles knew. The voice in the dungeon had been sharp and not sweet at all. “Though sometimes the rules change if a member is a human. It’s much more free. For instance, if an Alpha bites a human of another pack, the human joins the Alpha that bit them. Or if a human changes pack without becoming a wolf, they’re free to go.” He held his hands out in a sort of releasing gesture.

Once again, as if inviting Stiles to something, as if planning something. “Oh yeah?” Stiles asked, only halfway interested, mostly asking in challenge, twisting his body around to face Peter head-on. “What about a second leaving his pack for another?”

It was creepy how Peter’s eyes gleamed at that. It was almost as if Peter approved of something.

“Well, that’s a lot more complicated,” Peter began. “I’d suggest you read up on that. It’ll do you no good if I give you all the answers.”

Stiles wasn’t sure how much power he had as Scott’s second, but in the end relented with the fact that he and Scott were both slaves. He bowed his head, biting back the comment he’d wanted to spew, and instead thanked the Lord.

“Yes, well. I suppose you’ve been quite isolated recently?” Peter began. “Have you heard any of the latest rumors? My favorite is about two guards who professed their love for each other before joining the battle. Or maybe it’s the rumors of Chris Argent working alongside my nephew.” Peter smiled. “One can never be too careful.”

Stiles paused. Peter was insinuating something, but he didn’t know what. Chris Argent with Derek? That didn’t seem likely at all. They both hated each other. He frowned. Peter’s eyes shifted over to Matt, and Stiles turned to see what Peter was looking at. Matt’s face was pale. Nervous.

Stiles swallowed.

“I’ve been sneaking to get the wine,” Stiles started, and Peter glared at him in response.

“Lie.” Peter stated simply. “I’m not here about the wine.” Peter tapped his finger against the table, pointing to the book. “Someone has been neglecting his duties.” The comment wasn’t directed at him. “If you don’t mind, Second,” Peter acknowledged slowly, lowly, and Stiles stiffened- he wasn’t sure Seconds were usually referred to as “Second” by anyone other than the Alpha of their pack, “I’d like to speak with this slave. Alone.”

“As you wish, Lord Hale,” Stiles said, shooting an apologetic glance at Matt. He walked out of the room helplessly, wishing he could do more.

He hadn’t picked up the wine. Hopefully Matt would be able to drink some tonight.

 

***

 

“Stiles,” Deaton said the next morning when Stiles came back from the toilet, “Why don’t you relax today? The soldiers are coming back and I’ll need your help later tonight. Possibly your bed.”

Stiles nodded, going to his bed and taking off the sheets. “Do you need help with herbs?” He asked, showing Deaton that he wasn’t just following orders and really did want to help.

Deaton shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. You’ve sorted me enough herbs for the next two years, I’d wager.” He smiled fondly at Stiles. “Why don’t you head off to the library? There’s an interesting book on the third shelf next to the door. You’ll know it when you see it.”

So Stiles found himself staring at a book, wondering if he should be disturbed at the fact Deaton had just recommended him a book on gay werewolf porn. Because that was in his hands. None of the other books were anything like it, so it must have been what Deaton meant.

Still, it was gay werewolf porn, and Stiles hadn’t seen a porn book in two months or so. At all, really, he’d never seen a pornographic book before.

Maybe his cock stirred just a little.

Then he remembered _Deaton_ had been the one to recommend it.

He placed the book back in the shelf. Instead he took a random book from the bottom shelf, hoping it would contain something of interest. He hauled the book to the desk, opening the pages.

A diary, of sorts. Lots of maps. Lots of coded words and symbols.

Stiles’s eyebrows raised. This would be a challenge. Might be really boring, but it would be a challenge. He took a couple of notes.

Eventually the challenge proved too much for him. He moved to the window and noted Laura playing in the yard with young wolf children, teaching them to be patient or whatever other skills wolves needed. Stiles moved away. It reminded him too much of his mother, and he wasn’t sure that he could take Laura and his mom in the same thought.

Sighing, he leaned against he window. Back to the book, then. Maybe the porn would be worth it. He made his way over to his table, opening the book to the last page he’d read and sat down.

In almost no time at all, the door slammed open. Stiles raised his eyes, noting Matt walking in with a black eye. Stiles looked down again. That could have just as easily been Stiles with a black eye instead of Matt. There wasn’t anything to say.

Matt looked over at him quickly, but moved to the window just as quickly. Stiles didn’t press; there wasn’t much good to be done dwelling on it. He knew from experience there wasn’t going to be any justice for what Peter had done.

The wind caught pages of Stiles’s book and he groaned, trying to move the pages back to where they were before. He had half a mind to tell Matt to close the window. It was winter, still, and the wind was cold-

His insides turned to ice. There wasn’t any reason Matt should have the window open in winter. Stiles spun around in his chair, eyes going wide at the sight.

Matt held up a bow, aiming it into the yard where the children and _Laura_ were playing.

“Stop!” Stiles shouted at the top of his lungs. Matt was going to kill someone.

The arrow flew as Matt jerked from Stiles’s bellow. He glared at Stiles, taking up another arrow and aiming it inside this time, aiming it directly at Stiles’s heart. Stiles desperately reached for the book behind him, hoping it could form some sort of shield.

Matt gave a snide smirk, as if debating whether or not to talk, deciding against it. Stiles held up the book over his chest. Matt rolled his eyes, moving his aim to Stiles’s head. “Should have taken my wine,” Matt murmured. “It would have had you out for days.”

He let the arrow fly.

Stiles ducked. More like he dropped to the floor, but it didn’t matter, not when the arrow sailed past his head with plenty of room between them. It was still more than Stiles would have liked, but-

Damn, Matt was reaching for another arrow. How had Stiles missed seeing the bow and quiver?

As Matt set his arrow Stiles tried to back for the door, hoping he wouldn’t have to drop on the steps. Matt’s face scowled again, his lip twitching with disdain.

Blood was everywhere. Suddenly, blood was _everywhere_.

Blinking, Stiles took in the scene in front of him. Everything was in slow motion. Laura stood behind Matt, wolfed-out and angry, her claws covered in Matt’s blood and in his neck and oh, Stiles’s mind supplied helpfully, _she’d ripped his throat out_.

Laura had just climbed up the wall and fucking ripped Matt’s throat out. And-

And Laura was currently twisting Matt’s head around and popping it off for good measure.

Stiles felt sick. “I could have lived without seeing that,” he commented, trying to hold back breakfast.

“I could have lived without being shot at,” Laura mentioned dryly, looking back through the window. “Move the children, for the god’s sake!” She called down, huffing. “Guards will be here soon,” she added, her eyes flashing red.

Stiles blanched. “I swear to all the gods, Laura, all of them, I didn’t have anything to-“

“I know,” she interrupted quickly. “I know you didn’t. Peter investigated him for suspicious activity yesterday, but we didn’t think-“ Laura’s eyes looked over Stiles’s body this time.

Ah, Stiles thought, She probably noticed the shaking.

“Stilinski,” Laura said quietly, “Your shout saved my life. I’m not about to harm you.” She took a couple steps over the dead body, with such grace, as if she hadn’t just twisted a man’s head off, and placed her bloody claw on Stiles’s shoulder.

Stiles flinched, but Laura’s grip was gentle, strangely. Yet Stiles couldn’t unsee the dead body _right in front of him_. Laura sighed, dropping her hand. “I should praise you publicly this time.”

“For public opinion, or for sincerity?” The words left his mouth before he could think about tem, and winced. Oh, man, had he not learned his lesson? This was a fast track to being whipped again.

But the Alpha merely chuckled, so much like her brother in that moment that Stiles’s chest hurt.

Derek did shit like this all the time, didn’t he, and how the hell could he keep safe and Laura was talking and he had better breathe and

“I deserved that,” Laura said, still chuckling. “It was a good jibe, but you should take lessons from Cora. She’s better.”

Stiles swallowed. “Please don’t whip me again,” he pleaded softly. She was so high above him, still a couple of steps ahead, and the distance felt too great.

Her smile, her wolf form suddenly melted away, a sad gaze in her eyes. “Stilinski,” she murmured, “I didn’t _know_ he would take it that far, or I never would have let him hold the whip.”

Stiles didn’t want to believe her. She was in charge, she was losing power, of course she wanted to hurt him.

But she looked just like Derek when she spoke, her eyes honest and wide, and sincere. Even as he decided to not believe her, he could feel his heart swell with relief as it did believe. She looked sad and apologetic.

“I’m sorry,” she added, and holy fuck the Alpha of the Hales, his owner and master, was apologizing to him, and he was pretty sure he was dreaming or something. How did this even happen? How did she go from angry woman into sorry?

And she’d arranged everything- she’d kept Derek away, told him to change his anchor, moved Stiles, called off an execution which was totally her right, according to the law books he’d read, and she was apologizing to him. Maybe to keep him friendly, since he was part of a different pack? Maybe because Stiles had just saved her life, though incidentally?

But then, wasn’t she kind of friendly before, when he wasn’t telling her how shitty she was as an Alpha?

Stiles shoved these thoughts away. They didn’t matter- Laura didn’t matter right now. Dead Matt. Assassin. He mattered. Not going back to being whipped. That mattered.

“You’d better find where he’s from,” Stiles murmured, pointing at the body. “Alpha.” He added the last bit as acknowledgement, trying to show he wasn’t ordering her around. As she moved, he grabbed her hand, holding her back. Laura turned, surprised, but her mouth wasn’t red.

“ _Promise me,_ ” Stiles began, “That you won’t punish me for this.”

Laura cocked her head. “Did you have anything to do with it?” she began, turning to face him.

“No,” Stiles answered, “But you were so willing to make Scott your scapegoat last time-“

“Then I promise, as the Hale Alpha,” Laura told him, and her eyes flared red as she said it. A promise. She’d given him her Alpha’s promise, and she’d keep it. Stiles swallowed.

Okay. Maybe Laura had been replaced, or maybe it was the bond shared by two people who had just survived an assassin, but it didn’t matter because he wasn’t going to be punished. He nodded and let go of her hand, and Laura moved to the headless corpse in front of her.

Matt smelled like death, Stiles thought, but he knew the body wasn’t Matt anymore. It was just a hunk of dead flesh, not unlike the deer Derek would bring home. Laura opened the cadaver’s shirt.

“His right pocket,” Stiles commented, looking but not touching the corpse. “There seems to be something there.”

Laura raised an eyebrow but reached in, pulling out an Argent necklace and a letter with Kate’s insignia. “An assassin,” Laura said, sighing with exhaustion. “Of course she would send an assassin next.” She handed Stiles the letter. “Tell me what it says,” she commanded. “I don’t think I can read it.”

“My dearest Matthew,” Stiles began, frowning. Something was wrong. “… Basically,” he summarized, “Please kill Laura and I’ll let you serve my niece. And maybe he gets to also bed Kate? It’s not very clear here.” Stiles frowned. Something was wrong about the letter, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“You’re frowning,” Laura commented, playing with the Argent necklace in her hand. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles swallowed, a light going off in his head. “Matt, he couldn’t read,” he began. “He wouldn’t have been given a letter.” Laura glanced up at him, curious. “He’d been coming here for the past two weeks, once he was surprised I could read. Then he mentioned he couldn’t, but he draws. Drew. He used to draw.” Stiles shook his head, clearing it as best he could. “Actually…”

He looked over the letter again. “I… do you still have my letter?” He asked, knowing the answer. If it was evidence for his innocence, it’d be kept in a vault somewhere for the next thirty years. Because wolf-law.

Stiles was sure he would end up just like Jackson’s dad.

“I do,” Laura said, intrigued. “Why?” Someone pounded on the door, calling for Laura. She ignored them, keeping all her attention on Stiles.

Stiles bit his lip, taking in a breath, and shakily handed the letter back to her. He knew she’d believe him; Scott had told Laura about his life with Kate. He was something of a Kate expert.

“This isn’t Kate’s handwriting,” he said grimly, meeting Laura’s eyes.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks for all the comments and kudos! And bookmark notes! Those really make my day! :)  
> Two chapters left!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Non-consenual themes/actions/environments. Please read below for notes about this!! (Derek is not involved in the non-consenual themes). I've updated the tags accordingly.
> 
> Other notes: 
> 
> Thank you so much! Over 10,000 hits! I'm so excited and happy! Thank you for the kudos, comments, bookmarks, and subscriptions. One chapter left!

“Did you mean to give me a book on gay werewolves?”

The druid dropped the herbs he was holding, a pained look on his face, as if he didn’t want to talk about it. It was the only time Stiles had ever seen Deaton look surprised at something. Still, Stiles held Deaton’s gaze as he waited for an answer. Just because it was Deaton’s first time being surprised didn’t mean Stiles was going to go easy on him. 

“I… I heard there was an assassin. Are you alright?” Deaton deflected. His eyes held hope that Stiles would drop the subject, a clear sign he was not at all moved or shocked by the assassin rumors swirling around the castle.

Deaton had never experienced the Stilinski investigative mindset. For a moment, Stiles wondered whether or not to take pity on the druid.

The moment ended. “No go,” Stiles countered. “Gay werewolf porno book. Explain.”

A pained expression crossed over the Deaton’s face. Stiles didn’t care Deaton would rather not talk about it- Deaton had answers. “I did not realize that book would capture your attention,” Deaton began. “There was another book, full of codes and encryptions I could not read, and I thought it might challenge your mind to find it.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “That was on another shelf, Deaton,” Stiles argued. “Look. Either you tell me why that book, or I go bother all the wounded and ask why you would recommend the book.”

Deaton raised his eyes as if in prayer for a moment. When he spoke again, the tones were hushed. “Maybe Laura would require your assistance in the library?” The words were spoken only slightly painfully.

Stiles took pity on him, huffing. “Fine. I’ll bring everybody here water and then go to the library.” He looked over at the water bucket, shaking his head. “But I’m not going to drop this.”

Deaton’s grin suggested otherwise. Stiles scoffed and picked up the bucket, unable to fill it completely full. It might take hours to get water to all the injured soldiers in the room with his back as it was, but as an exiled slave, Stiles had all the time in the world.

 

***

 

Laura was waiting for him that night, a candle in her hand. “Mr. Stilinski,” she greeted, already looking over documents. “I hope you won’t be too put-out if I also use this room?”

“Go ahead,” Stiles commented, keeping a far distance away from Laura. “Deaton’s full of soldiers and wounded. There’s not much place for me.” He moved the blankets around. “You’re still looking for answers?”

“It’s possible that one of our guests wrote the letter,” Laura commented. “Peter’s warned me about them. My mother was a powerful Alpha, and one has been talking about making a pack of Alphas.”

Stiles frowned, ruffling his pillow. “Peter warns you about a lot of things, huh?” he asked under his breath. The floor was wood and seemed cold- the huge window would make a draft. Still, maybe in this area he’d get some amount of warmth. He could sleep under a table to try and keep it in.

His comment did not go unnoticed by the Alpha, who turned to him rather curiously. Stiles’s heart relaxed as he realized she wasn’t angry or frustrated- just curious, as if he had a point. “He does,” she said slowly. “When my parents died, I had no idea who to trust or what to do. Anyone would have attempted to rip my throat out. Plus, I had my brother who had turned himself in for treason. The country was teetering on revolution and the Argents had declared war. I hadn’t been prepared for such measures.”

Stiles sat on his blankets, facing the Alpha. He’d expected as much. “Peter helped me along the way, pointing out laws, inconsistencies, how to balance a budget, how to keep slaves fed, how to keep our pack strong and plentiful. He’s a valuable asset and a valuable second. I wouldn’t be half the Alpha without him.”

He couldn’t help the interruption. “Do you do everything he says? Have you ever challenged him?”

Laura sat back, her eyes sparkling as she thought over his words. “Not always,” she confirmed, “but usually. I… He’s not been the same after the fire,” she added. “And he’s been so helpful. I figure if I can pacify him, it’d be my way of showing thanks for all he’s done.” She dropped to the floor, her eyes glowing softly in the hushed shadows of the room. Not upset, but something inside her probably felt wrong.

Stiles hummed as he thought it over, his fingers dancing along the soft fabric beneath him. “You said ‘pacify’,” he voiced. “Usually one uses that words for someone who is angry, or might be a danger. You’d pacify an enemy, for example.” He looked up at Laura, who seemed surprised.

The Alpha opened her mouth to speak, before closing it again. “I have not thought of it that way,” she confessed. “But your words ring true in a way I hoped they wouldn’t.” Laura must have been picking up on it subconsciously, Stiles reasoned. She looked up at him. “This line of questioning, I hope, has a reason? You suspect him.” The last line wasn’t a question. Her eyes focused on him, demanding he explain.

Stiles squirmed a little. Her gaze wasn’t angry, but intense. “Um,” he started, “He hasn’t done anything I should report him for. He just… He just always seems to have his fingers in a lot of pies. Hell, when I first saw you, Alpha, you talked to him about his plans, almost as if you were assuring him of stuff.” Well, really, the first time had been…

Something else. He felt his body tremble, surprised when the Alpha moved over to sit next to him, her hand reassuring on his arm. Inky black blood flowed up her arm and into her shoulder.

Taking his pain. He had pain? Tilting his head in confusion, he looked up at Laura.

“Sometimes emotional wounds turn physical. Like when someone feels something so strongly, they have a punch in the gut,” she explained softly. “I did this a lot for Derek after he was pardoned. And Cora. And they did it for me.”

There was no high that normally came from the pain being gone. Instead, the anxiety seemed pushed back under the surface again. Stiles had room to breathe, room to think. Laura’s eyes seemed wet with the memory, and Stiles softly placed his free hand on hers.

They sat in a little more silence before Laura spoke softly. “I see why Derek is so taken with you.” Stiles felt his stomach tighten and his heart thunder at the use of present tense. Even though Derek had cried his affection and shame over hurting him weeks before, it still sent his mind spinning. Derek still cared.

Maybe Derek would always care, and his throat felt acidic, cottony and constricted. Guilt started to rack over him. Derek would always care and Stiles would-

“Whether or not you choose my brother,” Laura said quickly, “I am glad to have your help.”

Stiles nodded, his eyes downcast at the blanket. He took in a couple of breaths. “Do… do you want me to have a relationship with your brother?”

The black no longer flowed into her arm, so Laura placed it back into her lap as she looked up at the ceiling. “It isn’t my place to say,” she began tentatively. “It’s between you and Derek, and I already know what Derek wants. But,” she began, “Cora mentioned this to me earlier, if you don’t want one and decide to be with Derek anyway because of his adorable sad face, you’ll have resentment. It’ll poison the relationship.”

“I figured as much,” Stiles murmured. Though granted, he had more thought of it on a “if I am always in a lesser position” rather than “resentment”, but he wasn’t about to tell Laura that.

“The question is, Stiles, do you want to have a relationship? Do you think you still could, and if it’d be worth it no matter how small and broken it might be?” Laura shrugged as Stiles tilted his head in thought. “My wants or wishes aren’t important. I want my brother to be happy, of course, but if this relationship isn’t something you want, then in the long run, he won’t be. Neither of you will be, and he’ll keep making that sad face.”

Stiles chuckled. “It is an adorable sad face,” he relented, picking up on the teasing and lightheartedness in her tone. He’d forgotten that wolves, with their longer lives, tended to play the long game. They’d wait, be patient, wear out their prey, siege castles- they had longer lives than most humans, so they tended to think in much longer timeframes.

Laura nodded her agreement. “I loved teasing him as a child. He’d wear it all the time then.”

He wondered what their lives had been like before the fire. Derek never told him, keeping it secret and hushed. He pictured the three siblings now, holding onto each other for dear life, knowing they were the only remaining support they had. Where did Peter fit in that model?

“I’m sorry for the topic change,” Stiles started.

Laura waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t be. We should be getting back to assassins and business anyway.”

Stiles nodded, looking the Alpha in the eye as he presented his question. “When you and your siblings were taking each other’s pain, where was Peter?”

It hurt to hear her laugh. It was dry, more of an acknowledgement of Stiles’s suspicion, and she met his eyes as her face turned sad and bitter and sour. Stiles closed his eyes. “He helped in more logical manners than emotional ones.”

As Stiles had suspected. “He helped Scott in a similar manner,” Stiles revealed. “Scott told me about it. Peter’s the one who told him to threaten a revolt.” He looked up at Laura, whose eyes had started to glow a little more with her anger. “I mean, as much as I love Scott, he’s not really that brilliant or manipulative. He’s like a giant puppy.”

Laura tilted her head down in thought. “That… that would surprise me,” she began, “but I don’t hear a lie in your voice, and it explains why McCall was so vague on particulars.” She paused. “Peter… when I first became Alpha, Peter said keeping the slaves would keep our economy high. It would suffer and our nation would dissolve without them. Mother never finished her plans for laws, not that we could find.”

Stiles looked at his finger. “Ripped out of the book,” he answered, holding up his finger. “I cut myself on cut-out pages earlier.”

With a bang Laura stood, racing to the book on alpha law. She threw it open to the last pages, holding the book wider before letting out a curse. “Oh gods,” she groaned. “He lied about that, too.” The book slammed closed.

Stiles swallowed. “I know it’s not my place, Alpha, but I think Peter’s been using you. I think he’s been having you build up the pack the way he wants it. I mean, from what I’ve seen, you’ve followed his lead. If this war continues, you’ll be targeted, and if this assassin thing works out, I wouldn’t be surprised if Kate does have assassins, he’ll become the Alpha.”

Stiles took in a shuddering breath, preparing himself. “When Scott became a true Alpha, I think he started mentoring Scott in a similar manner to you, grooming the pack to his liking.”

“It’s not uncommon to get help from members of other packs,” Laura commented, still shaken. “But it was a strange change of character.” She thought, still pensive.

Stiles continued. “I thought he wanted to go after Scott. As a True Alpha, Scott’s weaker than most Alphas. And let’s face it, Scott is pretty gullible. More so than a baby. And Peter would not only have Scott’s Alpha, but he’d also have his pack.” Stiles thought back, remembering Peter calling him Second, but his mouth trudged on, not letting him think about it. “Ah, and-“

He paused, looking at Laura. Laura was listening, still not convinced, but taking it in. “Go on,” she said. “There’s no evidence against him, but your claims make sense.”

“I saw him talking with Matt yesterday,” he finished quietly. “He said something about not doing his job.”

Laura leaned back on the table. “Yes. He’d been skipping on his job and coming here. Peter was going to handle it.”

Stiles bit his lip, knowing she hadn’t figured out why it was so odd. It would be dangerous trying to explain this, but Scott’s life might depend on it. He opened his mouth. “Usually with slaves, Peter beat them badly if they misbehaved. Lots of mental scarring. A guy in my pack wasn’t allowed to sleep for a night or else he’d be-“ He trailed off, remembering, trying not to focus on the words. “And the other guy, the slave he’d forced to sleep with him, Peter made that a public spectacle. With Greenberg and sleeping, he knew word would get around.” He looked up at Laura. “It seems strange he’d keep Matt’s punishment quiet. At least, maybe to me it was quiet. I’m not exactly in the slave quarters.”

Laura mulled this over, writing it down on one of the scrap pieces of paper on the table. “A very good point,” she murmured. “These are things to consider.” She looked it over. “Certainly, he is suspicious. Maybe in my top five.”

Stiles swallowed, realizing that if it wasn’t Peter, he’d be in trouble. “Well, I uh, don’t mean to accuse-“

Laura laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “Suspect _everybody_ ,” she stressed. “Or else you’ll never stay alive.” She looked him over. “Except you. You’ve got as much as I have to lose here, don’t you?”

The words hurt more than she meant them to. “I mean,” she began, realizing her mistake, “You can’t become an alpha. So you have no reason to take my power.”

Stiles wanted to snark back at her _Maybe I was going to kill you anyway_ , but it was the wrong thing to say. It wasn’t true, and it implicated him. “What about Scott?”

“As you said, he’s a puppy,” Laura commented dryly. “He’s a bitten wolf, he’s a slave, and he’s too new to all of this. He wouldn’t know where to begin. With that said, you and your alpha may be my only allies right now.”

She seemed to collapse under the weight of those words, as if admitting how fucked over she was. It only assured Stiles of his suspicion of Peter- Laura would hesitate to seek Scott out for help if Scott had offered a revolt and she’d turn to Peter instead. It had only been luck Stiles had been in the library again in the first place. “And Derek,” Stiles added quickly. “I mean,” he paused as she raised an eyebrow. “I… I don’t think he wants to be an alpha.”

Laura’s face relaxed in agreement, her eyes grim. “He doesn’t. Normally, he’d have to leave here, form his own pack,” she mentioned. “But he wouldn’t suspect Peter, either. Those two have been thick as thieves since our childhood.” She pursed her lips, eyes flicking over the list. “Peter isn’t even the best fit,” she murmured. “And that’s why it feels so right.” She sighed. “We need proof,” she commented to Stiles. “For anything. Any option.”

The candles had all but burned down. Stiles stifled a yawn, exhaustion catching up with him. “We’ll look into it. Maybe he’s got some documents or something.”

Laura watched him yawn, her own eyes on the candles. “I’ll let you get to bed,” she murmured softly. “You should sleep. There will be guards outside.”

“Not going to sleep well,” Stiles admitted, shrugging. “Matt died here. I can still picture his little head popping off.” When Laura turned back at him, he shrugged. “I can deal. There are far more important uses for my bed right now.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “Derek’s unit has not yet come back,” she assured him softly. “They’ll come back tomorrow afternoon.”

Stiles paused, unsure of what to say to that. Derek’s bed was much nicer than this makeshift thing on the floor. And there was a bath. And a lack of Derek.

Laura turned away. “I’ll let the guard know to leave it unlocked if you want it,” she informed him.

It was nice of her to give him the choice.

 

***

 

The bath was cold. How could he have forgotten the bath would be cold? That was a big thing. That was the most important thing.

Shivering, Stiles placed himself in the titled room he’d never thought he would set foot in again. It wasn’t all that strange- he was here when he was recovering. But then he hadn’t had a choice then. Now when he did, it was strange to choose to come here with all of the feelings and memories and turbulence in his chest.

At least when he shut his eyes here there wasn’t a dead body in front of him.

Dipping himself under the water in hopes of adjusting to the temperature faster, he closed his eyes. He’d almost died again today.

It would suck if he didn’t figure out this Derek thing before he died, he knew. He’d been pulling at threads, tossing it aside, and even now he was more interested in finding out who was behind the assassin.

If it was someone other than Kate, his life was in danger. His mind switched from feelings to investigation and Stiles let it run wild.

The human sighed, coming out of the cold, cold bath and drying himself off. There were three options for the assassin’s origin. 1) Kate had someone else write the letter because she was busy or the letter was meant to throw disorder and suspicion in the wolves. 2) Someone else had written that letter in hopes Matt would kill Laura and take her power for themselves. 3) Laura was testing Stiles, and used Matt to do so. Stiles still couldn’t believe how easily she’d dismissed him during the chaos after Matt had died.

His gut still screamed Peter, and his gut had been right about most things.

Stiles huffed, walking out of the bathroom and staring at Derek’s empty bed, his mind spinning just as quickly back from Kate and Peter to his original problem- his feelings for Derek.

The bed reminded him of all the previous times he’d spent in this room. The was still big and the blankets had been changed from the last time he was here. All the tables were back to being sparse, the medicines once lying on them gone and taken back to Deaton’s room.

He wondered how it must have smelled to Derek afterwards, dying, healing, medicines, infections. All Stiles could smell now was the musky scent of Derek, still light in the air but enough to bring back positive memories in this room. He shivered, dropping the wet towel on the floor.

In the candlelight he could see the outline of his back in the mirrors, scarred and ugly. He’d never really gotten a good look at his back since the Thing, so this being the first- well, it was unusual. Stiles swallowed as he pitifully attempted to trace the lines with his fingers, his arms aching with his attempts.

Laura had apologized to him. Scott had apologized to him though he wasn’t involved with the event at all. And Derek had apologized to him in this room, his answers weary and honest from exhaustion.

Stiles reached out and petted an imaginary head below him, wondering what it would be like if he forgave Derek. What… what could they be? What small and broken relationship could they even have? What would be worth having?

Stiles blew out the candles. The imaginary Derek vanished.

Sighing, he opened up the soft, puffy blankets on the bed. Derek had murmured something about goose down or the like one night when Stiles had asked. Whatever the comforter was made from, it was warm, and comfy. Stiles liked it. A lot.

His heart squeezed. It smelled like Derek when he inhaled. Stiles breathed in again, feeling a familiar pang of arousal wash through him as he remembered all the other times he’d been close enough to Derek to smell the other man.

Well, he’d almost died today, he excused himself, and he was exhausted and if he needed to take the edge off just a little he could think back to Derek, couldn’t he? He swallowed, running his hand down his chest, picturing Derek in his mind.

His hands dipped lower, picturing an imaginary Derek above him, remembering kisses and hickies placed along his neck. Blossoms of heat echoed in his mind, his cock stiffening, growing, and he let out a moan as he explored those memories, building a new fantasy from old data.

Derek would probably be gentle, he thought, his hands not yet touching his cock. He played with the hair in his groin, adjusting his legs, feeling his balls move with each adjustment. Derek would probably kiss him all over again, suck on his nipples. In mimicry Stiles reached up and pinched his nipple in his fingers, rolling it around at the memory.

Desperately he opened his mouth, trying to take in a breath. He felt so warm, so tingly suddenly, as the heat from his lust pooled in his gut. Even his toes could feel the surge of it, his cock twitching as he moved his knees upward, keeping them spread apart.

Still he had yet to touch himself, his hips grinding against the slightest touches of the cool fabric, imagining Derek’s hands cupping him gently, kneading his balls. Stiles swallowed, head tilting to inhale more of Derek’s smell.

Gods, he hadn’t done anything sexual in what felt like ages. He felt like sixteen again- so quickly aroused, so close to coming judging by how his cock throbbed. Sweat broke out all over him as his cock dripped precome between his stomach and the sheets. Slowly he reached his hand down, fingers in a loose grip as they teased up and down his shaft.

Derek would be gentle, slow, cautious. Just like before, when he wasn’t sure what was enough or too much. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and stroked himself to the fantasy. Derek gently on top of him, just sucking him dutifully, maybe his eyes looking upwards with lust like that first time-

It didn’t take long to spill into the sheets, and Stiles passed out quickly after, nothing but exhaustion and satisfaction filling his head.

In the morning, Deaton had sent a message to go to the library first to fulfill Laura’s request of researching Argents (probably more thinking on who wrote the letter), and once he was done to please come back to the infirmary and help with the wounded.

Right. Derek and Scott hadn’t come back yet. Stiles groaned and thanked the servant for the small breakfast she’d delivered with the message, waiting until she was left to pull his naked ass out of bed.

Stiles looked around as he sat up, heat building in his cheeks as he realized Derek would know exactly what Stiles had done last night. That was, if the maids didn’t clean out his sheets. The maids were aware of him here, though, so maybe they would.

Well shit, he thought, it would be shitty to leave like this, to leave Derek with a scent he couldn’t have again. And it might be dangerous, teasing a wolf in such a way.

On the other hand…

Stiles felt a little liberated as he headed to the library, the sheets crumpled on the bed. If he was teasing the wolf, it was up to the maids.

 

***

 

Frustrating. Stiles groaned as he shook his head; nothing was coming into light. Peter kept his cards close to his chest, and Stiles didn’t have access to most of Peter’s notes. Only Laura did, and she said she’d look into it. Not enough evidence.

Stiles stretched as he tried to figure out the writing. None of the books seemed to have the same writing as the note, and for now, Laura was taking the investigation into her own hands. Stiles was left to his own devices. Bah.

Mostly it involved thinking in circles again.

Two guards knocked on the library door, announcing the very welcome distraction of the Alpha arriving. At least Stiles wouldn’t be bored. Maybe she’d found something. The doors opened and Stiles stood, bowing as the Alpha swept into the room. She dismissed the guards and the doors closed behind her. “At ease,” she commanded, and Stiles took it to heart, slumping back in his chair.

“Really gotta warn a guy before you do that,” Stiles offered. “I’m going to have a heart attack one of these days.”

Laura let a smile slip before she sat down in front of him, her eyes business. “I need a second opinion,” she began, handing him both Matt’s letter and three other papers. Stiles sat upright, looking them over.

They were a perfect match. He looked up at her, nodding. He didn’t dare speak in case the guards were listening. He wasn’t familiar with what the papers were for nor who had written them, but they were guilt for whomever had written that note.

Laura exhaled. “I’ll prepare more than twenty guards for your Alpha,” she started. “They come back today. He must be protected.” Stiles knew from his reading that this was mandatory- she’d be torn apart by the other packs if she let another Alpha die in her territory. A non-pack Alpha’s death was a declaration of war.

Stiles grimaced as he looked it over. “Peter?” he guessed softly.

Laura’s face gave all the confirmation he needed.

Damnit. He had been right about Peter. And Peter was going to go after Scott, to take his power, that’s why he had guards. No wonder he’d called Stiles " _Second"_ , he was already planning to take over a pack, ripe with potential. They didn’t even have laws yet. And with the Hales as allies, it would be a powerful alliance indeed.

The Alpha bolted upright suddenly, her hands grabbing the papers and stuffing them into her bra. Stiles frowned in curiosity, mouth snapping shut. He trusted her superior hearing over his fragile human one.

The doors swung open. “No need, I’ll introduce myself,” Peter was telling the guards. “Ah. Alpha.” Peter glanced over at Stiles. Technically he shouldn’t have done anything at the slave, greeting, speaking, looking, but it was enough to warrant a nod from Stiles.

Stiles kept his head down, skin crawling.

The letter lie on the table. He blanched. He couldn’t even hope that Peter wouldn’t see it.

“Looking over the assassin’s letter, I see,” Peter commented as he climbed the stairs. “What a terrible thing, my niece. I’m so grateful to the gods that you weren’t killed.” He greeted her with a hug and kisses on each cheek while Stiles tightened his wrists. What a liar. What a lying liar who _lied_ and who threatened Scott and-.

Peter turned to him, his voice dangerous and calculating. Stiles snapped up at that voice. “It looks a lot like your letter, doesn’t it?”

None of this seemed to phase Laura, and Stiles had to congratulate her on being such a good actor. She knew now. Probably she was waiting for more evidence, or a chance to kill Peter.

“We were discussing it, actually,” Laura commented softly. “Slave Stilinski says he knows nothing about it.”

Peter’s eyebrows raised, clearly looking at the slave. “I’ve heard some rumors,” Peter began. Stiles shut his eyes. Peter knew his involvement, knew his suspicions. Peter knew he wasn’t stupid, and he’d made subtle offers to Stiles before. Of course Peter knew that Stiles knew who had sent the assassin. “The handwriting doesn’t match?”

Laura shrugged. “Possibly. It could be Deucalion. He’s been making moves at members of our pack already.” Clever, Stiles thought- her words were truth. It _could_ have been Deucalion, technically.

Even though it wasn’t Deucalion at all.

Peter nodded, seeming pleased by Laura’s suggestion. “A good idea. Have you followed up on it? Do you need his letters?” He motioned for the two of them to sit down, carefully sitting next to Stiles.

His elbow lay uncomfortably close to Stiles’s person.

Stiles kept his eyes low. Peter knew he knew. Probably. Most likely, from the way he kept accidentally bumping Stiles’s side.

Laura’s face seemed to brighten. “Letters would be nice, Uncle, if you can get them. Though we’d need more proof. Nobody has contacted you for being a second, have they?”

Stiles’s head shot up. Laura looked at him, taking in his gaze. “Something bothers you?”  She asked. He paled; he risked revealing everything. Laura had to respond to his distress, otherwise it looked suspicious.

Stiles swallowed. “How… how are you contacted for being a second?”

Laura regarded him coldly, though Stiles knew by now it was not aimed at him. Hopefully Peter wouldn’t notice. “Usually,” Laura began, “They simply call you ‘Second’. Only an Alpha may call their own Second that. No one else. Otherwise it implies that wolf plans to take over the pack.”

Stiles could feel his face drain as he remembered Peter’s words. Laura shook her head. “Really, Mr. Stilinski,” she began, trying to give him some cover, some explanation as to why he looked as terrible as he did, “You ought to be studying more. You’ll do no favors to your alpha if you don’t know anything like this.”

Stiles nodded his acknowledgement, trying to play along. “I’m sorry, Alpha Hale.”

A hand touched his shoulder. The grip was too strong, too tight, and Stiles tried not to wince. “Perhaps you should come to my room this evening,” Peter mused. “I have many texts there for you to study, and it would certainly be warmer than this drafty place.”

It was not an offer. Laura looked a little pained, but she’d have no reason to deny the command if she didn’t know about Peter. And they had to play it safe, play their cards close to their chest.

Stiles spoke first so Laura wouldn’t have to reveal anything. “I would like that very much, Lord Hale,” Stiles answered, faking a smile.

He knew Peter could hear the lie.

 

***

 

There was some retreat to be had at Deaton’s, so he moved himself back to the infirmary in order to gather his strength. Maybe he could gather some of his things before he left. Or maybe he could get Deaton to tell Laura, if Deaton wasn’t too busy with his patients. Most of them should be healed by now, anyway, and giving them all water wouldn’t take that long.

His fingertips twitched with extra energy. Stiles kept his mind spinning, trying to figure out what to do next. He couldn’t fight Peter. He couldn’t challenge Peter physically. All he had to use was his brain, and Peter was an even match in that department as far as he knew.

The human continued down the hallway, noticing a couple of extra guards but nothing really surprising. Mostly he was contained in his own thoughts, giving a nod of thanks at the guard who swung the heavy door to let him in.

A body crashed into his, wrapping him in a large, strong arms that stole his breath away from him. An unmanly cry ripped from his throat as he attempted uselessly to try and swing a fist, but his arms were pinned at his sides. Oh god. Peter had already found him. Peter had-

“Stiles!”

The second blinked, trying to recognize the wolf capturing him. “Scott!” Stiles yelled back, happy excitement on his face. He wiggled free, hugging Scott tightly back.

Scott was back. The gods had been good to him.

The wolf laughed, practically carrying Stiles through the new patients- all wounded, all waving at him (Stiles awkwardly waved back) to a small little gathering of beds. Stiles almost teared up when he saw them. Every member of their pack was there, even Danny and Greenberg.

Greenberg waved while Jackson looked away awkwardly. Danny offered a smile. Scott kept laughing. “We’re back,” Scott told everyone, setting Stiles down.

“For a while,” Jackson added bitterly. Stiles frowned.

“So you didn’t find Kate then?” he asked, and Scott shook his head.

“No. But we did get a cease-fire with Allison and Chris,” Scott began. “So most of the Argent followers won’t attack us. Kate’s an independent faction now, but…”

Jackson huffed. “Face it. This hasn’t been about the Hales and the Argents. It’s been about the surviving Hales and Kate.” Danny pinched his face in an annoyed expression, but let it go.

Danny. An idea popped into Stiles’s mind. Before he could speak, however, Jackson leaned forward on the bed. “How have _you_ been, Stilinski?”

It seemed like aggression but Stiles knew it was poorly-veiled concern. “Good,” he began, and the wolves settled. “Um… Deaton has me do stretches. We think my back is going to turn out fine. And yesterday I helped stop an assassin kill Alpha Hale, so life is pretty exciting.”

At least the humans weren’t startled. They must have heard about it already.

“Jackson saved _my_ life,” Scott piped in helpfully. “You’re like brothers.”

Jackson shrugged. “That’s because you were useless, McCall,” he jibed. “Standing in the middle of a clearing without armor.”

Scott didn’t seem to mind. Probably a lot changed when someone saved your life. Stiles smiled a bit, though Jackson’s demeanor suggested once again he wouldn’t be Stiles’s first choice for an Alpha. But he saved Scott, so Stiles relented another twenty points in favor of Jackson staying in the pack.

Stiles took a place on an empty bed beside Greenberg, hauling his legs up and sitting cross-legged on the bed. Greenberg shifted beside him. “So… we’re still slaves then, if it’s still a war?”

Scott shrugged. “I have to talk to Laura- Alpha Hale- about that.” He sighed, flopping back on a bed marked as his own, next to Jackson. “With Kate out of the picture…”

“But a cease-fire with the others is pretty great,” Stiles contributed. “Most of the Hale wars end in total annihilation.” He patted Greenberg on the shoulder.

“True enough,” Greenberg began, and one of the other wolves held out a pack of cards, while Danny pulled out a wineskin, bored of the conversation already.

“Kings?” Danny offered, and Stiles grinned.

His pack was the best.

 

***

 

Danny was a little surprised when Stiles asked for water halfway through the afternoon. “Come on,” Danny began. “Our soldiers are home, we’ve got to get shitfaced. Who knows when another opportunity will come, Stilinski?”

Stiles shrugged, picking up his water. In truth, he wanted all of his senses for Peter. Peter was ruthless; being drunk was going to be a terrible idea. It felt too much like when he’d sacrificed himself to save the Argents, yet somehow flipped; he’d never been sure of the Argents, whereas Stiles felt much more confident supporting Laura, and he’d wanted to see Derek and now he didn’t want to see Peter.

Laura. Stiles snapped up through the game, knowing he had to send a message to her. She might have been waiting on his evidence. If only an Alpha could call a Second “Second”, then Peter had been implying that he was already the Alpha.

Stiles glanced around the room, taking in each member of the pack. Greenberg was joking with Jackson (much to Jackson’s dismay), and Scott was chatting with a couple of other wolves.

Stiles leaned over to Danny. “I need you to help me to the bathroom.”

Scott looked up. “I can help,” he offered quickly. Stiles kicked at him in frustration. Count on Scott to ruin a perfectly good plan with his niceness and caring and wonderfulness.

“I can’t piss when I know your creepy wolf-hearing is listening in,” Stiles chided, looking back with wide eyes at Danny. “Please,” he begged, drawing out the word. “I’ll never ask you if you find me attractive again.”

Danny pretended to think over the answer. They all knew what it would be. “All right,” he relented, standing up. “I have to carry you, or?”

Stiles shook his head, also standing. “Nah. Just follow me, make sure I don’t fall in.” Danny’s face glowed in silent approval, somewhat relaxed about how easy the job was. Stiles didn’t let his face fall and started walking in the direction of the toilets.

Danny followed him patiently, even as Stiles moved into a quiet, silent corner of the infirmary. “Ok. Listen,” he began, looking around.

Danny’s mouth moved to open, probably for a question, but Stiles covered it. “There’s no time, Danny, okay? Peter summoned me tonight,” he started quickly.

Danny’s face fell; horror and pity meshed together in his gaze. Stiles shuffled on his feet, switching his weight on each leg. “I know. I know it’s shit. I know I won’t come back. You’re going to be the new second,” Stiles told him. “Here, now. I dub thee second or whatever shit I’m supposed to say.” Stiles breathed in. “Peter’s not going to kill me,” he added lowly. “He’s… he’s offering to make me _his_ second.”

The brilliant thing about Danny was his ability to pick up on subtle cues. Stiles didn’t need to waste time with endless words, with long explanations. Instead, he watched Danny piece together the information. There’d been an assassin, Laura was in danger, Peter was a crazy motherfucker to all of the slaves, and if Peter was offering Stiles a position he couldn’t give, well, Peter was moving into place in order to get that power. Danny breathed in slowly, waiting for Stiles to continue.

“You need to tell Laura. While Peter is distracted with me, and I promise I’ll try to distract him as long as I can without agreeing to anything, you need to tell Laura and get her to summon the guards.” Stiles removed his hand from Danny’s lips, noting how it shook when he pulled it away from the other man.

They stood in silence for a while. “Sorry to harsh your buzz,” Stiles finally relented.

Danny shrugged. “It’s okay,” he replied. They waited in the quiet for a moment. “What if he tries to kill you, Stiles?”

The second breathed in, rolling the question over in his mind. “Well,” Stiles began, “He’s known I’ve known probably for a while, really. He needs a second, and three Betas for a good pack. He probably sees something in me that I don’t, ‘cause he’s a creepy wolf dude, and if he were to bite me, there’d be a much stronger bond with him than with Scott. It’s how the bite works.” Stiles exhaled. “So he won’t kill me. Yet. Not if I can be useful to him.”

He looked back at his friend, who was staring a hole into the floor. “Shit,” Danny murmured.

Stiles smiled a little. He felt the same way. “Tell Laura for me,” he begged. “I’ve got until nightfall.” And he led Danny back into the circle, none of the wolves any the wiser, too drunk and cheerful to notice the grim sets of the humans’ faces.

 

 

*****

 

The doors to Peter’s room were close to soundproof, Stiles knew. Nobody would be able to hear him scream once he stepped inside, not even another wolf. He swallowed. They looked much more impressive when he was standing before them, rather than passing them by in the hallway.

Maybe his hands were shaking just a little. This was so much worse than when he decided to crawl into bed with Derek.

Peter had walked off with Laura earlier in the library, and hopefully she’d been able to convince her uncle what Stiles had not: knowing nothing about his plot. Stiles hadn’t been able to confirm  that Peter had called him a second, and Laura would have to wait for that information later. Hopefully through Danny, if Stiles’s plans were right.

This was worse than the Argents.

He was stalling.

Swallowing, he lifted a trembling hand to the door, knocking ever so softly for permission to enter. After a couple of seconds, the doors flew open.

Stiles’s heart stopped as he saw Derek before him. Derek, wary and looking beaten down though Stiles knew not by Peter. The two of them breathed in silence, exchanging glances of shock and other unreadable emotions because Stiles was mostly feeling the shock.

And then sadness, Stiles felt, a great sadness that Peter was the one to end his relations with Derek, that Stiles wouldn’t be able to tell Derek his decision because Peter had just made it for him.

Stiles dropped his head, not wanting to meet Derek’s gaze. “Lord Hale summoned me,” Stiles explained, somehow wanting to assure Derek he wasn’t going to Peter willingly. Derek’s stiffness dropped immediately, and Stiles could feel the pity roll off him in waves. His pitiful human hearing picked up on footsteps behind the wolf, and Derek turned in acknowledgement.

“Don’t worry, Derek,” Peter assured his nephew, coming up behind him. “Slave Stilinski and I were just going to work on how to be a better second, weren’t we, Stiles?” Stiles flinched as his name rolled off Peter’s tongue, the double meaning clear. He swallowed.

“Yes, Lord Hale.” Fuck. He wondered if Derek could hear how broken his voice sounded. Peter motioned for him to come inside. His feet moved automatically; his heart sunk. Stiles knew Derek couldn’t interfere; he was lower in the pack. He had no right to challenge his uncle over anything.

Stiles looked into the room, taking a step in as Peter bid Derek goodnight, shutting and locking the doors behind him. Derek looked helpless as the doors closed over his form. The Hale Second didn’t even look at the slave. He didn’t need to. Instead, Peter sat at a desk and continued writing something.

The minutes crept by, painfully awkward. Stiles swallowed, keeping his gaze on Peter’s backs. Peter was sending a message to him as well. He didn’t need to emphasize how much danger Stiles was in. Stiles knew it already.

“Are you going to kill Scott?” Stiles asked softly.

Peter sighed, an almost happy sigh. “There it is,” Peter murmured. “Someone around here is able to keep up with me. Your talents are wasted as a human. As a slave,” he added, his emphasis on the word keeping Stiles quiet for a little longer.

Stiles looked around. Maybe there was something he could attack Peter with. Even if he was a scrawny human, there had to be something, right? But no. Where Derek’s room had been sparse, Peter’s was opulent. Cushions to sit on, sheets of silk, with wine clearly set up for drinking.

And a huge window that overlooked the town. Stiles blinked- he’d never seen a window that big. It was taller than three men. Three men that maybe were wolves and could kill Peter, he reminded himself, dragging his thoughts back to what to do in the present situation.

Nothing in the room seemed useful for murder. Peter would claw him to death before he could smother the man with a pillow.

“It’s lucky Derek wasn’t killed, don’t you think?”

Ah. That was Peter’s angle. Keep Derek alive, and Stiles would be thankful. “He tried to kill me,” Stiles replied, trying to be cold. “Why should I care what happens to him?”

Peter gave a small chuckle. “And yet, you do,” he commented, continuing to write on his paper. “Tell me slowly that you don’t.”

Stiles shut his mouth. Even if he didn’t know he was lying, Peter would happily inform him. After three breaths, Stiles spoke again. “Peter,” he pleaded, “You gave us so much help. And you’ve helped Laura so much, why would-“

“It’s not strong enough,” Peter began. “I lead everyone anyway. Why shouldn’t I get more credit for it?” The words forced themselves into nonchalantness. “After all, I should have been the Alpha when my sister died.” Peter paused, shaking his head. He’d caught on to Stiles’s game: to make the wolf weak with emotion. Damn. Stiles was falling on his last plans now.

“I don’t want to be your second, you know,” Stiles blurted out. “You can’t make me. I can refuse. I can go tell Laura about the letter-”

Peter’s hands banged on the desk. The sound dove straight into the slave’s heart, pumping adrenaline into his system. Stiles flinched.

“Another word and I’ll whip you,” Peter growled angrily, his eyes flashing blue.

Blue. He’d killed someone before. He _would_ whip Stiles, probably a thousand times at his back with bone and

Stiles moved his back to the wall as he fell silent, trying not to feel the length of the whip on his back. He could feel it, he could, it was right there and it hurt, press his back against the wall, something solid, something solid-

Peter was suddenly against him, pinning him. “Foolish of me,” Peter began. “That wasn’t a very good way to start our conversation, was it?”

Stiles calmed down, his wide eyes gazing up at Peter’s calculating ones. “Let’s try something else, Stiles. Wine?”

“No thank you,” Stiles said slowly. Peter shrugged and picked him up by his shirt, dragging him onto the sofa. He poured the wine anyway, handing a glass to Stiles.

Even though it was half-full, Stiles shook so badly it spilled onto the table. Peter sighed dramatically as he cleaned it up.

Peter grabbed the glass, helping it to Stiles’s lips. Stiles swallowed down the red liquid. “You’re not going to tell Laura, Stiles. Do you want to know why?”

Stiles glared at him. “I have a feeling I’m about to find out,” he murmured. Peter had him drink again. “I’ll kill Derek.”

Stiles frowned. This wasn’t a change in topic at all. He was pretty sure they had this discussion just earlier. But now he was shaken, and he was afraid, and he couldn’t fight off the fear the way he had before.

Peter poured himself a glass, no longer willing to help Stiles despite the human’s trembling fingers. “You can’t fool me. You still care about him, deep down. Maybe you don’t want a relationship. That’s fine. Makes sense. But if you were in my pack, Stiles, Derek would have to obey you.” Peter took a sip. “And if you weren’t… Derek would die.”

Stiles swallowed. “Laura could protect him,” he argued.

Peter sighed. “She can’t protect Cora and Derek,” he began. “Not if she’s dead.”

Stiles looked painfully at the table. “I don’t want-“

Peter reached over and slammed Stiles’s head against the wood.

“Really, it’s for the best, Stiles.” Pain surged through Stiles as he tried to focus on Peter’s words, but a haze of pain drilled into him. “You aren’t thinking clearly. I’ve just sent you into PTSD, after all,” he continued smoothly, as if Stiles hadn’t spoken out against his plan. “When you’re a wolf, that lessens. Your brain his much more equipped to handle that.” Peter stopped, thinking. “Provided you aren’t nearly burned to a crisp, of course.”

Stiles tried to pull away, face aching. Peter’s grip never lessened, Stiles pushing off with both legs to no avail. He was stuck on the sofa. “Stiles. Behave. You aren’t a very good slave, are you?”

“Fuck you,” Stiles spat out. “I don’t have to listen-“

Peter’s claw caught right underneath his chin again, and Stiles stopped. “I _will_ kill Derek,” Peter said lowly. “I will kill Scott. I don’t need them _and_ you.” A whimpering sound came from the human’s throat. “But I’m willing to keep them. For you. As a gift.” His claw traced Stiles’s lip. “Do you understand?”

Stiles swallowed. “Yes,” he breathed.

The claw retracted. “Good. Why don’t you strip, then, to show how much you understand?”

Stiles shut his eyes. He should have known better. He should have known this was coming. But Derek’s life was in the balance. Scott’s life was in the balance. Laura’s life- he prayed Danny would make it in time.

He stood up, emotionlessly taking off his shirt. Peter watched, not really looking at his body, only his face. Of course. Peter was getting off on the sheer power of it, not from what Stiles looked like. Strangely, that felt a little comforting.

As Stiles stripped off his pants, Peter walked around him, inspecting him. A clawed hand reached out to touch his face gently. “My nephew has impeccable taste,” he murmured, and Stiles tried to slam down the panic. The touch wasn’t anything like Derek’s- it was hard, unyielding. Stiles wouldn’t be saying no. Peter wasn’t going to bother playing that game. There wasn’t any choice so long as Stiles was a slave, and he’d be a slave a year longer. The claws traced down his cheek gently, over Stiles’s lip.

Stiles glared at him through his lashes. “You seem to have a fascination with my mouth,” he hissed.

“Thinking of all the ways I could put it to use,” Peter threatened, not missing a beat. Stiles fell silent. Peter grinned; the truth remained unspoken between them: Peter was thrilled he didn’t have to explain everything to Stiles. Stiles picked up on his subtle threats well enough, probably better than everyone else.

Peter let his hand fall, the threat still in the air. Stiles shivered under the cold, wondering if Peter was going to touch his dick next. Peter merely turned. “Think about it, Stiles. A strong pack, ruled by logic and loyalty.” He waved for Stiles to follow him to the bed, and Stiles shut his eyes for a moment, trying to draw on his strength.

It was surprisingly easy to follow Peter. Mostly because Stiles wanted to live. “And Scott will always be there to patch us up, a good pack member to address other packs in. He’ll have the charisma, and you, as his best friend, will have the brains to lead him.”

Stiles stopped walking as Peter stopped at his bed- bigger than Derek’s. Five people might fit on that bed and Stiles knew he and Peter would be packed closer than his old room on a cold night.

“And after a day’s hard work, you can come home and Derek will be waiting for you, ready to do _whatever_ you please.” Peter pulled back the sheets, waiting for Stiles to get in first. The human obeyed, his eyes numb and the silk sheets were smooth, so smooth but so cold.

Peter started stripping next to him, blowing out the candles in the room.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to call for help. Inside he was beating against his chest, calculating how far it would be to run to the exit. But as his heart pounded harder and harder, Peter lay a hand on the human’s arm, a cold warning. “I’ll be right back,” he murmured, slipping to his desk.

Stiles stayed painfully still, hoping Laura had gotten his message.

Between his breathing and the sound of a quill pen, Stiles could fight off some of his panic. He was still too nervous to sleep, though his body craved it. Peter wouldn’t kill him. Peter might do worse things, but he wouldn’t kill him.

Stiles hated his imagination, then. He weighed trying to fake enthusiasm, he weighed giving in or fighting Peter, he weighed screaming for anyone in his soundproof room. There was no good answer.

“What have you decided?” Peter asked him, completely aware of Stiles’s internal struggle.

Stiles swallowed, keeping still on the bed. “I don’t have many choices, do I?” Stall. Keep stalling.

Peter chuckled at that. “True,” he murmured in the room though loud enough Stiles’s human ears could pick it up. Peter stood from his desk and extinguished the last remaining light. “Think about how happy Derek will be with you.”

Stiles scoffed at that, and he could feel Peter’s inquisitive eyes on him as the wolf sunk into the bed next to Stiles. The heat from Peter’s skin radiated on Stiles’s own. “You’ve ensured Derek won’t be happy,” Stiles said blankly. “If he’s alive, he’ll be a prisoner.”

Peter pulled Stiles close, ignoring Stiles’s lack of motion and using his wolf-strength to adjust Stiles anyway, their bodies pressed together in a way that mocked lovers. “True.” Peter’s breath ghosted up and down Stiles’s shoulder, waiting over his neck. “Where would you like the bite, Stiles?”

They both knew Stiles wasn’t in a position to say no. Stiles might never be in that position, not if Derek and Scott were being threatened. And Stiles might not survive the bite to be a second either, but that wouldn’t be a concern of Peter.

Lips ghosted over Stiles’s neck, terrible mocking touches of what should have been with Derek. At least Derek was sorry for the pain he caused, Stiles knew. Peter caused it often and willingly, while Derek had regret. Derek had tried to make it better, he’d tried to reform.

“Bite my ass,” Stiles growled, finally finding the strength to try and squirm away. Peter only chuckled, the grip never loosening. The struggles were for naught; no human would ever win against a werewolf’s strength.

“Naughty,” Peter growled, using his strength to flip Stiles stomach first into the mattress. Stiles kept squirming- this couldn’t be happening- and felt sick to his stomach as Peter’s hand traced the scars of his back, following downward, downward, until the wolf squeezed his ass harshly, wanting it to bruise. “Bite you right here, you mean?”

Stiles let out a plea, hoping Peter would let him go. He hoped this was all a lesson- _I could rape you and it’d be my right_ \- instead of Peter actually raping him and not even Laura could punish Peter for that, because Stiles was a slave, an unmarked slave and was a plaything for any wolf, really.

His throat tightened and his ears picked up on panicked sounds coming from his throat, but it felt far away, like all this was happening to another person.

“Shush,” Peter whispered from behind him, moving both his hands back up Stiles’s back. Stiles didn’t feel any better, but at least he could breathe again, the noises stopping. “I’ve no plans to fuck you in my bed tonight.”

Stiles nodded as claws came around his throat. It was all a show of power. Peter was just displaying how much power he had over Stiles, how much Stiles could thrash and scream and nothing would ever change what Peter wanted, because in the end, Peter had all the power and Stiles had nothing, not even if he was Peter’s second, not even if he had enough evidence to charge Peter of a crime.

And maybe it was also that Peter knew Stiles wouldn’t forgive him if he pressed further- this was all a warning, but a dangerous warning, and Peter was too proud to admit when he’d gone too far in a warning and should have just whipped Stiles instead.

Peter’s claws never broke his skin.

Nor did they leave Stiles’s neck the entire night.

 

***

 

On the upside, being forced into the mattress the entire night meant that Peter’s body shielded him from glass shards when Erica threw herself through Peter’s giant window. Stiles hadn’t been able to sleep, but the sound and confusion caused him to jerk. Three other footsteps made their way behind her.

“Peter Hale,” Erica boomed, “You are under arrest for treason.”

Laura had gotten the message. Thank the gods. All of them. All of their beautiful, Erica-like selves.

Peter growled, picking Stiles up like a rag doll (again) and held his claws tight on Stile’s throat (again). Erica’s face changed from serious to grim as she regarded Stiles’s nudity. It wasn’t hard to imagine what the scene looked like.

“No,” Peter stated simply.

Stiles looked over the guards- neither Boyd nor Isaac were with her. Though the doors behind them slammed open, and he heard Isaac’s low whispers, though he couldn’t make them out.

“What a party,” Peter murmured. “Too bad we’ll have to-“

Peter surged forward as something hit him, dropping Stiles like a sack of potatoes. Immediately Stiles attempted to scramble out of the way. Hands grabbed him, helping him move as two more wolves jumped on Peter.

Stiles grabbed ahold of the form, watching in horror as Peter ripped open a throat with his claws. Erica had just barely missed being injured herself, hitting the wall as she dodged backward.

As Erica fell down uninjured, Stiles knew what would happen next. The window was unguarded, and Peter ran, taking on his werewolf form and jumping out the window, glass still in his feet. The guards chased after him.

Erica groaned, getting up slowly and running to chase after the fugitive. A howl called in the distance, signaling the wolf’s position to the rest of the pack.

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice came from behind him, and Stiles shut his eyes, knowing exactly who had grabbed him. It figured, really. “Stiles, I need you to look at me.” Brown eyes met hazel ones, Derek swallowing as he looked Stiles over.

“Can we go to your room,” Stiles began, feeling his skin heat underneath him. “Because I don’t want to spend any longer in here than I have to.” Derek nodded, pressing Stiles against him in a hug. His grip was firm but gentle, reverent- the complete opposite of what Peter’s had been.

They pulled away, and Derek helped Stiles stand. The wolf lead both of them to his room, passing cold stone and candlelight. Somehow it grew warmer further away from Peter’s room.

When they arrived, Derek kicked open his door and sniffing around, making sure the parameter was secure. Oh shit, Stiles thought, allowing himself to think about everyone.

“Scott,” Stiles breathed, freaking out. “Danny.” He grabbed at Derek’s shirt.

“Safe,” Derek assured him, holding him tightly and moving them into the room. The door swung closed behind them. “Deaton lowered a ring of mountain ash around your pack before we made our move.”

He set Stiles on the bed gently, inspecting Stiles’s form for wounds. “We thought he might have killed you.” He bent over, taking Stiles’s head in his hands, pressing their foreheads together, an intimate gesture that Stiles appreciated. He pressed his hands gently on Derek’s, squeezing them.

“He didn’t… he didn’t kill me,” Stiles told him gently. “He didn’t touch me… like that, either,” Stiles added, and Derek’s face fell in relief. The two of them breathed, Stiles’s heart aching.

Peter had threatened to kill Derek, though. Called Stiles on his bluff.

Greenberg’s words flew through his mind, something about responsibility. Laura’s question fled through his mind. And the war wasn’t over yet, they weren’t equals, he remembered, thinking on what he’d told Deaton.

He shoved it all aside, promising himself he’d think about it tomorrow. Right now, he needed the comfort Derek could offer him. The memory of it was too strong, too tempting and he needed that relief.

Derek pulled away before Stiles could move into a kiss. Stiles kept his hands close to his thighs, eyes blurry as he tried to make out Derek’s form. When had they become so blurry?

“I should have pulled you away when I came out of his room,” Derek began, “I just… I didn’t know about this. Danielle debriefed me.” He opened a drawer, pulling out a shirt- too big for Stiles, but enough to keep him covered. “I should have… I should have known better. I shouldn’t have let you go in. I should have kept you here, safe.” He tossed the shirt in Stiles’s direction.

Stiles took the fabric, using it more to cover up his nakedness than to wear it. He looked around, pointedly not looking at Derek’s frustrated face. Though, admittedly, there wasn’t anything much to look at. Everything was sparse.

Maybe he wiped his eyes a little with the shirt.

“Derek,” Stiles murmured, and Derek turned immediately, the clothes he’d been ruffling through dropping to the floor. “Stop blaming yourself.”

“No one else to blame.” The answer was curt, as if not up for debate.

Stiles debated anyway. “Peter is,” Stiles reminded Derek gently, motioning for Derek to come over. Derek obeyed without question. “And I’m okay. I am.” His hands shook as he took Derek’s hand against his own. “I’ll be okay,” he promised, and Derek nodded in trust. The wolf sat down next to him gingerly, as if his presence might scare Stiles.

Stiles let out a small laugh. Derek wasn’t nearly as scary as Peter had been. “Don’t you need to go hunt Peter?” he asked, wondering if he might be able to make it back to Deaton’s. His pack was waiting for him there.

The lord shook his head. “We shouldn’t be going anywhere. It’s possible…” Derek trailed off. “It’s possible there’ll be berserkers out, if I’m right, and berserkers don’t tell the difference between friend and foe.” He swallowed. “But if you want-“

“Okay,” Stiles said softly, squeezing Derek’s hand. “We can wait it out, Derek. I don’t mind.” He adjusted himself, moving closer into the wolf’s form. Derek was strong, and sturdy, and Stiles didn’t mind being just a little bit weak right now.

His mind went back to the previous night. “I uh… sorry about your bed,” Stiles uttered quietly, and the pinched expression Derek gave confirmed Derek knew what Stiles had done. Stiles sheepishly looked at the wall. The wall was so much more interesting than Derek’s frustrated face.

Derek swallowed, taking in a breath. It was one of those preparatory breaths he did before he wanted to say something cool and important, and Stiles wondered what it meant that he knew that. “If… If I had taken you before, would you have-“

“I’d do anything to save my father,” Stiles replied, facing Derek. It felt too uncomfortable not to. The wolf’s face was fallen, shadows cast across it. “Probably should have talked to you about it, but what’s done is done.”

The words felt a little more powerful than he intended, especially as Derek pulled away. Stiles sighed, leaning against Derek’s frame, careful to keep his back away from Derek’s touches. “I’ve been thinking about stuff,” Stiles began, and Derek looked at him.

The lord’s eyes weren’t even hopeful. That conversation might be better for a different day. Stiles swallowed, taking in the gentle warmth of the man next to him. They sat in silence again for a little while, before Derek spoke.

“You should really put on that shirt,” he murmured. “It’ll be warm.”

“This is warm enough,” Stiles murmured. It was so easy right now, knowing what he wanted. He wanted Derek’s arms around him, he wanted to forget what had just transpired, he wanted to forget he was a slave and what Derek had done. But instead Derek kept him at arm’s length, desperate to give him space.

Stiles didn’t want space right now, he realized. Maybe he would in the morning. Maybe not. The wolf’s mouth seemed chapped and broken, but so full in the candlelight, and Stiles leaned forward, pressing their mouths together.

Derek startled, pulling back. “Stiles,” he began, but gave in easily as Stiles fell back onto the bed, pulling Derek over him. This was good, he thought. His back was safe like this. Derek was only ever gentle like this.

His fingers grabbed Derek’s hair and pulled the wolf downwards, their mouths meeting. Derek was still scared, still shy, and Stiles took the initiative this time, a strange change. His tongue ran along Derek’s teeth, coaxing the wolf’s tongue into his mouth, letting the heat from their two bodies warm his cool flesh.

He opened up his legs, letting Derek settle in between them. His hands moved downwards towards Derek’s shirt, trying to force it off the lord. Derek pulled away, doing some sort of pushup, moving his weight on his arms.

 _Best pushups ever_ , Stiles thought. “Take these off,” the human grumbled beneath him. “You have too many clothes.”

Derek looked him over, his lips swollen in the moonlight. Stiles bet they weren’t even bruised. Stupid healing powers. His mind flashed back to the hickies that Derek refused to heal. Maybe they were bruised, too. His own lips felt bruised and tingly, anyway.

“Why do you have that face on?” Stiles groaned, trying to find the hem of Derek’s shirt. “That’s your ‘I’m not so sure’ face. It’s a terrible face right now.” He had no luck with the shirt.

Derek sat up, catching Stiles’s hands in his own. “Stiles,” he said softly. “Are you sure?” He caught each hand, moving their fingers together as he brought one up to his lips. “I can wait, Stiles-“

“Judging by your pants you can’t,” Stiles snapped, never more frustrated in his life. Derek dropped Stiles’s hands like hot stones, trying to casually cover his erection. “And by my cock, _I can’t_ , and I have had a really, really shitty night, and you are hands-down the most comforting person I could be with right now, and I would like you to blow me or something.” He glared at Derek, grabbing for his shirt. “And I swear to all of the fucking gods, Hale, if you don’t get naked _right now_ I’m going to jack off in your bed and make sweet noises I know you like to hear and just torture you with how much I’m enjoying myself. Understand?”

“No,” Derek whined, exposing his neck in submission. “I’m sorry, Stiles, I don’t-“ and then Derek breathed and made a sound that sounded a lot like a plea not to jack off without him there.

Stiles breathed, trying to choose his words carefully. Derek just wanted to be sure. Derek wanted to make sure he had space. That was good. Derek was trying to be good. Stiles took one more breath, exhaling slowly. He held up his hands, placing them by his head, looking up at the wolf watching him, embarrassment over Derek’s features. And a little bit of shame. Worry.

“Derek,” Stiles said slowly. “It has been a really, really shitty couple of days. I’ve missed you. You’re comforting.” Derek’s head came down at that, and Stiles could almost see his wolf-like side come to life: _I please him_ , it said. _I please the Stiles, he finds me useful, I-_. Stiles reached up and touched Derek’s arm gently. “I still don’t have answers. I still don’t know what I’m going to do, what we’re going to do. But right now, I _want_.”

Derek nodded, face falling, but understanding. Just a little guilt seeping into his heart, Stiles continued. “I… I _need_ you tonight. To forget for a little while.” Stiles sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t want to be scared anymore.”

One of Derek’s hands reached for Stiles’s face. “Okay,” he uttered shakily. “Okay.”

Good. Derek leaned down to kiss him, his hands trailing along Stiles’s sides, hands gentle and soft and undemanding, unhurried. Anytime they got too close to Stiles’s back, to his scars, Derek pulled away- which was good. Maybe he knew instinctively. Maybe he picked up on Stiles’s heartbeat. Stiles didn’t know, and he wasn’t about to ask.

And maybe it was stupid to do this, Stiles thought as Derek sat upright again and pulled off his shirt, when Peter was on the loose and things could be raining in all around them, but he could pretend. They could pretend for tonight, and Stiles really needed to pretend. Derek was safe, and that wasn’t pretend, and Derek loved him and that wasn’t pretend.

Stiles could feel the sorrow at the answer to Laura’s question as it welled up inside him. It was a terrible answer, messy and without any sort of clear-cut understanding, but Derek kissed him then, kissed away his thoughts, and Stiles yielded underneath him, pliant and accommodating.

Derek never made it about passion. Even when he pulled away from the kiss, his hands on his pants and slipping them off, there was no hurry, no desperation. Instead, he quickly lay back between Stiles’s thighs, their cocks rubbing together, as he traced up and down Stiles’s chest, merely looking, gazing, as if taking all of Stiles in for the last time.

Stiles licked his lips, tasting Derek’s spit on them. “Come here,” he demanded, and Derek leaned down, gently, taking his time. They pressed their mouths against each other again, open, cherishing, a thousand soft, gentle things that made Stiles’s heart ache.

This wasn’t passion.

It was love, some sort of strange comforting feeling that welled up inside the two of them. Their bodies rocked together and Derek plucked cries and moans from Stiles’s throat as he continued to kiss along Stiles’s body, hands always avoiding his back. Stiles’s hands traced over Derek’s muscles again, occasionally demanding yet another kiss, and Derek was always willing to oblige him, even knowing Stiles might not stay, knowing Stiles might leave him.

They spent a countless amount of time like that together, Stiles cradled by Derek’s form, Derek trying his best to make Stiles forget the horrors of the outside world. And to give Stiles stubble burn.

Stiles didn’t mind, and Derek succeeded on both counts.

Finally reaching a hand down between them, Stiles whispered a “Thank you” in Derek’s ear, encouraging Derek to keep his head where it was on his neck. It would be a mark that would keep him safe from other wolves.

Derek’s hips rocked in his fist, the friction sending a groan that traveled through Stiles’s neck. His heart beating and bursting as he felt Derek kiss him again, “Hey,” Stiles said honestly,  “I don’t know if I want a relationship.”

Derek collapsed on top of him, the words hurting and sinking clearly into the wolf as he stopped. It was like blowing out a candle.

“Shitty timing, Stiles,” Derek grumbled, and moved to pull away, finished for the night. Stiles caught him, pulling him back down with one arm. That, and he was pretty sure Derek wasn’t going to walk away from a handjob. He twisted Derek around (or Derek allowed himself to be twisted) until their positions were switched and Stiles was on top of Derek, Derek’s cock still in his hand. He leaned down and pressed a kiss against Derek’s nose.

“No, listen. I don’t know if I want a relationship. I don’t know what will happen between us,” Stiles added, pressing a chaste kiss against Derek’s frowning face. He paused in his ministrations, taking in the sight of Derek’s confusion and hurt, and kissed him again. Derek opened up underneath him, allowing Stiles to stroke his mouth once or twice with his tongue. Stiles hoped it would be reassuring.

“I don’t know a lot of things about us or where we’ll be or what I want from an ‘us’ yet,” Stiles said as he pulled away, watching Derek’s half-hooded eyes. “But I know that I do love you, Derek.”

Derek’s eyes went wide. He tensed underneath Stiles- not with his usual “I’m about to come” tense, but with fear and happiness and surprise. Stiles could read all of those emotions in the lord’s face. “Even if I can’t do this, Derek,” Stiles promised, kissing along Derek’s jaw. “Even if I can’t be with you, I love you. I promise, I love you.” He pressed a kiss against the inside of Derek’s ear, tasting something salty and wet. He reached up to wipe the rest of Derek’s tears away.

“Okay,” Derek murmured, his body not quite relaxing, but his hands coming up to rest in Stiles’s hair. Neither of them cared they had yet to come- both of them had softened considerably since Stiles had spoken. Something else had climaxed between them; something fragile and easily broken spilled between their emotions, and Stiles held a breath, continuing to kiss Derek in some small reassurance, leaning forward and pressing his hands against Derek’s in his hair.

“I love you,” Derek breathed, and Stiles pulled back, their gazes meeting. Both of them probably looked like idiots, Stiles thought as he took in Derek’s crying face yet again, wondering what his own looked like. “I love you so much, Stiles.”

The words were a pitiful plea. Stiles grabbed the wolf’s fingers in his hair, bringing them close to his heart. “I know,” he said softly, trying to make it a joke. But it wasn’t a joke; it was the truth. Derek loved him, and he knew. “I know you love me,” Stiles assured him. “I know you’re sorry. I know.”

The body beneath him moved into a sitting position, bringing their faces close again. Neither of them spoke for minutes, simply resting their heads against the other, breathing. It was a release to say the words.

His eyes fell shut and Stiles tried to open them again in vain, earning him a chuckle from the wolf. Derek gently picked him up, lowering him onto the bed, still making sure not to touch Stiles’s back. It was quite a feat.

The bed was soft underneath them. “Sleep,” Derek assured him. “I’ll keep a lookout for Peter, though I imagine he’s all the way to the town by now.” Derek leaned forward to press a kiss on Stiles’s forehead, and Stiles gave a mumbled response, closing his eyes.

When he opened them, Derek was looking out the small window with apprehension. “Sleep a little more,” Derek told him. “It’s nothing yet.”

Stiles frowned sleepily. “What… what could it be?” He didn’t like the sound of “yet”.

“Smells like smoke,” Derek informed him. “The guards chasing Peter have yet to come back; they wouldn’t keep a chase that long.”

Stiles noted Derek was dressed. He moved his arm, his eyes widening as he realized he was wearing sleeves. Derek must have dressed him as well, which was a little disconcerting. He glanced up at Derek, protests on his lips. “Sleep,” Derek cut him off. “As much as you can, Stiles.”

Stiles felt too tired to fight. He’d already feared for his life twice in two days, so he slept, trusting Derek would make it well.

When he awoke again, Derek was shaking him. “Stiles,” he commanded, practically shouting. “Stiles.” Something loud and heavy sounded behind his words, nearly smothering Derek’s voice.

“I’m up,” Stiles informed him. Bells. Stiles could hear bells. The Hale Dome was ringing. Stiles jumped up, eyes wide on Derek’s form. Derek had changed into his battle gear while Stiles slept. “What’s happened? Is it Peter?”

Derek frowned, shaking his head. “ _Kate_. She’s in the castle.”

The bells pounded in Stiles’s ears.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: No rape happens to characters in the fic (nor is it hinted at nor behind the scenes), but there are strong nonconsensual themes and as I'm re-reading it through, I would expect the themes to be extremely triggering for anyone who is affected by rape/noncon situations. The situation presented would not take much at all to be a rape. It's a generally awful situation. 
> 
> This scene does not involve Derek, and is marked by five stars (*****) before it happens instead of the usual three (***). That way, if you would like to skip the scene, you can. 
> 
>  
> 
> Outside of the warning: 
> 
> Thank you so much for all of your support. There is only one chapter left (with only graphic violence and epic fighting, no more non-con stuff). It should be out before May 1. :D


	8. Chapter 8

Kate Argent was in the palace. Kate, who had sent him on an errand to free her family and promised to keep his father safe but killed him the moment Stiles was out of town. Kate, who burned Derek’s family. Kate, who had burned down Beacon Hills.

Stiles swallowed, trying not to freak out. “Scott,” he began. “Scott’s still in mountain ash at Deaton’s. She’s a human, Derek, she can break through-“

Derek covered his mouth. “A True Alpha can break through Mountain Ash,” Derek assured him. “She won’t expect it. Stiles,” Derek pleaded, “I’ve got to go find her. I’ve got to protect my pack.” Stiles realized Derek had already dressed in what armor he could throw on. Steel claws covered his hands, a weapon only for wolves. He’d probably had some trouble doing it himself, but he’d let Stiles sleep for as long as possible.

And Stiles needed to protect his own pack. “I’ve got to find mine,” Stiles realized, knowing this could be the last time he saw Derek. He quickly covered Derek’s mouth with a hasty kiss, both of them parting. “How did you know?” Stiles asked.

“Cries from the guards when they chased after Peter.” Derek began leading Stiles to the door. An escort. Stiles followed quickly, the cold floor only serving to quicken his step. “They found her team trying to sneak into the palace. She would have snuck in and burned us all if we hadn’t noticed.”

The bells continued ringing overhead. Stiles forced that thought from his mind, not wanting to picture the castle on fire. As they crossed the library entrance one of the guards yelled, “In the yard! She’s in the yard!”

Derek snarled, eyes flashing blue. He looked at Stiles and then at the guard, and Stiles didn’t need to be smart to know the wolf was torn between keeping Stiles safe and going after Kate. Stiles pressed a hand against his arm. “Go,” Stiles assured the wolf. “I’ll be fine, Derek, go protect your pack.” Derek gave a last, pained look, and Stiles continued running towards Deaton’s office while the wolf tore away.

It would be better this way. And no one was going to bother killing a weak human, not when they could imprison him again. If it came to that, Scott would get him out, Stiles assured himself, and he kept running.

Guards continued passing him by as Stiles blindly tried to make his way to Deaton’s office. As he approached the final hallway, he slowed down- there was a big, buff guard he hadn’t seen before. As the guard saw him, his eyes flashed blue. Stiles swallowed. Definitely not one of Kate’s men, but he might kill Stiles anyway. Still, he had to try.

“I’ve got to get through,” Stiles explained, taking a step.

The guard raised a clawed hand and looked down at him. “It’s closed here,” the guard informed him. “Nobody is to make their way past here.” The guard looked him over. “All slaves to the quarters,” he added. “Why aren’t you there?”

“I uh, just got out of the library. I’m looking for my pack,” Stiles began, and the guard stiffened, his arm coming outward. Shit. Of course the guard could hear the lie, he probably had stopped listening after the first sentence. Stiles dropped to the floor just in time to see the guard’s claws go sailing in the air where his head had been.

The guard didn’t believe he was part of the pack; he probably believed Stiles was part of Kate’s group. It wouldn’t be safe to stay here; but at least the guard would be unlikely to follow him. Quickly Stiles racked his brain for a safe area, but only the library or the dungeons came to mind.

Library it was then. He spun on his heel, hearing the guard roar behind him. Probably the guard wasn’t to let anyone in- not if the bells were ringing. He continued down the path he had just come, relief washing through him as he spotted the door. He dove in, aware of a growl behind him.

Panicking, Stiles bolted away from the door and into the library, shutting the door tight, praying nobody would notice that his presence here.

He breathed. The orange glow from outside filled the room through the window. Using the light to look around, Stiles realized nobody was here. It was an excellent choice for a hiding spot. Carefully he searched around for places to hide. The glow outside flickered against the books and tables.

The glow outside?

Frowning, he moved to the window, face pressed against the glass. The town, he realized, looking beyond the yard. The town was alight, fire flickering all the way over to the castle.

Stiles swallowed. “No way,” he whispered, thinking back to Beacon Hills. It must have looked like that when Kate set it aflame.

Something flashed in the yard, grabbing Stiles’s attention. A sword. Someone was brandishing a sword, swinging at Laura. And Cora- Cora just ripped through that person’s throat. Overall, it looked like the Hales were driving back the Argents-

Kate’s bow shined in the glow, the odd silver color giving it away. Stiles felt his grip tighten; he wished he had Matt’s bow. He could shoot that damn woman now.

He thought back to what she had done to Derek and to his father, and he nearly growled. Kate deserved to die.

Stiles frowned- he couldn’t see Derek. Had Derek died? Had he made it to the yard? “Derek,” he breathed, shivering. “Don’t be dead.”

He continued watching the scene before him- Kate sliced open a man’s throat with her knife, taking a claw in her arm. Laura and Cora seemed far enough away, and the guards kept the hunter from using any arrows. The Argents were falling in number. Kate would _have_ to retreat if she wanted to live.

Stiles hoped she didn’t.

Red flashed behind him, the window catching the light.

The reflection in the window startled Stiles. He jumped just a little before he recognized the reflection, squeezing his eyes shut. This was a terrible day. All of this nonsense was terrible. Maybe he should have died in the dungeons.

“Hello, Peter,” he uttered coldly, unsure if he should run or beg for mercy or ask to watch Kate die. “Figuring out your voyeurism kink just now? It matches your new eye color.”

If Stiles was going to hell, he’d go all the way.

Peter’s voice emerged softly from behind him. “How appropriate that _you_ should be the one to discover me, Second, when they all tried so hard.” It seemed he didn’t care at all about what tone Stiles had. Which was strange. Peter normally cared about what he said.

Well. At least Stiles wouldn’t be dying if Peter still considered him a second. Then again, given Peter’s red eyes, Peter would need a pack. A defenseless human would make an excellent Beta, especially one that his nephew was already partial to. Two Betas, then.

Stiles swallowed, thoughts flickering to the night before.

Maybe death was preferable to something like this.

“Kate’s here,” Stiles informed him, his eyes still trained on the dark figures fighting in the yard. Cora had slashed at her, only to dodge her arrow at the last second. He shut his eyes-

“Yes, well, not for long. We need to leave.” Something red flashed again in the reflection on the window, and Stiles could almost see Cora turn to look at them.

Stiles banged against the glass, screaming for help. He wasn’t sure anyone would hear him, but it was worth a shot. The glass broke underneath his fists and he surged forward, not wanting to be a part of Peter’s plan.

But Peter grabbed onto his arm, pulling him back into the room and slamming him on the floor. “I’ll break you,” Peter threatened. “Piece by piece, bone by bone if you don’t behave for me, Second.”

There wasn’t any way Stiles could win against an Alpha. Stiles let out a sound of pain, and Peter let his hand drop.

“Did you kill Scott?” Stiles asked. Laura had been alive in the yard, and he knew he’d seen her eyes flashing earlier.

“No,” Peter murmured, picking up the human and hoisting him over his shoulder. Stiles swallowed, allowing himself to be taken. Even if he was a wolf, he could still get away, he hoped. Maybe if Peter bit him he’d be able to escape. Because he knew Peter wouldn’t let him die now, let alone escape.

Peter started moving, each jostle a stab of pain in his head.

“Did you kill Scott?” Stiles asked, adjusting himself to a more comfortable position. Peter was the sort to drag him painfully along the ground if he dislodged himself.

There was a fear in him, a fear that suggested he would die if he struggled now. Get out of the palace, he decided. Get out and run when fire isn’t looming over the horizon.

“No. Be quiet.” His fingertips dug into Stiles’s back, into that bad place and Peter knew what he was suggesting and Stiles needed no more encouragement. He fell as quiet as he could be, hoping it would be over soon, that Peter would kill him instead of letting him bleed to death should the bite not take.

Scott was alive, his mind tried to supply helpfully as Peter opened up a hidden room behind a bookcase. Stiles kept his head low, watching everything get farther and farther away. Peter kept slow and quiet. The tunnel turned from stone to dirt, and the sound of the bells died away.

A root grazed his back, leaving a scratch through the material. Stiles squirmed. “What if I resist the bite?” Maybe he could fight it.

Peter huffed. “Then you die,” he explained tensely, as if talking to a child. “I told you to be quiet.” His claws dug into Stiles’s skin, and Stiles stilled, swallowing. He didn’t want to die.

He really didn’t want to die. Peter’s temper was desperate; he’d kill Stiles if Stiles proved to be too much trouble.

The Alpha’s footsteps hurried, and Stiles could make out a light from far away. Someone had caught onto them. Excellent. Just before he could call out for help, Peter threw him onto the ground, knocking the wind out of him.

“Climb,” Peter commanded hissing softly in Stiles’s ear. The human clumsily reached around until he found a rope ladder. He climbed as fast as he could, Peter only once helping him upwards towards a trap door. Stiles pushed it open, breathing in smoke.

The air choked him, a hot searing smell that tore the strength from his lungs. They were in the town. Peter had led him into the middle of a _burning_ town. Something was wrong with the Alpha, something seriously wrong. Stiles tensed, wondering if Peter had brought Stiles here for a murder-suicide.

Before he could haul himself up, Peter jumped out of the hole, grabbing Stiles’s arm and carrying him away again. Screams sounded from the outside. Stiles’s feet dragged on the ground, though it didn’t do much against the strength of an Alpha. He wouldn’t be able to tear himself away to run.

Peter’s family had died like this. How could he go through something like that again? Peter glanced at him. “I’ll have to carry you,” he announced.

It was a quick but difficult decision, but ultimately Stiles decided Peter would prefer to have a live Beta and wasn’t trying to kill Stiles. He went limp as the Alpha picked him up, holding on tightly to Peter’s neck as the Alpha started running, full speed, bounding past falling beams and flames.

In the middle of it all stood a stone clock tower covered in runes. Stiles breathed in as he saw it; Peter was going there. Nobody would expect them to escape from a burned-out town, and the stone would keep it from catching on fire, Stiles hoped. Peter seemed to have that same hope, jumping onto the roof and climbing into the highest window. He set Stiles down on one of the platforms as he listened around, his sense of smell useless.

It was still smoky this high up, and Stiles coughed.

Instantly Peter roughly grabbed his face, looking him over. “You’re unhurt?”

Stiles coughed, nodding. The eyes were wild and crazy- probably a combination of sudden Alpha and past trauma. Peter’s claws were still out, starting to dig in at Stiles’s skin, so in self preservation he blurted out, “Yes, Alpha.”

Peter’s claws retracted immediately, the words bringing more calm than approval to Peter’s face. They needed to move again, but this time Peter gently led him down the attic into an old room, a bucket of water, rope, and cloth waiting for them.

Stiles could figure out what the rope was for, but the bucket of water seemed like a lot of optimism. Being in this building felt like optimism. Unless there was druid magic at work that he didn’t understand, and that might explain the runes-

 _Gods Damnit druids_ , Stiles cursed. With their magical abilities and whatnot. This building probably would _never_ catch on fire. The water was for something other than putting fires out.

Peter gave a grin at Stiles’s face, closing the door behind them. He held a finger to his lips and Stiles nodded, understanding the need to be silent. Didn’t want to be silent, but needed to be.

Escape seemed so far away.

The Alpha wet a rag, placing it over Stiles’s mouth. Stiles inhaled, the damp, moist air a welcome relief to his scratchy, burned throat. The air had been hot and dry. The cloth removed itself just as quickly, wiping his face down.

“You should be in pristine condition,” Peter murmured to himself. Stiles didn’t offer any suggestions. Instead, he thought about the Argents downstairs. He didn’t trust Kate’s followers any more than Peter.

Kate broke her promises. At least Peter seemed to be following through on his threats.

“Now then, Stiles,” Peter began. “I’ll need to keep you from running away.” His hands held out the rope, patiently waiting for Stiles to get into position.

Once again, Peter took the choice away from him. The both knew Peter could force Stiles to be bound and it was a mockery of a choice. Stiles didn’t want to waste any energy pleading at the Alpha so he settled on glaring.

He kept his mouth shut, though. He’d need it later when calling for help during his escape. If he mouthed off now Peter would just break his jaw. Or send his head flying into the ground again.

Stiles shivered, his body aching. Now that he couldn’t escape, he kept looking at the windows, looking at the door. The rope burned. Peter’s strength was a little too much and Stiles didn’t doubt that the fire was having its own psychological affect on the wolf. It certainly was on Stiles.

“You aren’t going to bite me?” Stiles asked, hoping to figure out how much time he’d have as a human.

Peter raised an eyebrow. “It takes days to recover from the bite. You’d be too wounded to move. And as much as I need a Second, I need someone not wounded to accompany me.”  Peter’s eyes stopped glowing red as he talked, his breath becoming more stable. Even his claws retracted and Stiles wondered what it meant that he hadn’t picked up on the retracting claws.

But this was good. Calm, not-crazy Peter was good. He could stay calm. He could keep from trying to escape- for now. Maybe Kate and Peter would kill each other and-

Peter was gone. Stiles blinked, looking around for the werewolf in their tiny room. He couldn’t find a trace.

What he could find, however, were loud voices booming from downstairs.

“Lady Kate!” Someone cried out. “Are you injured?”

“Sit down, Lady,” another cried out. Stiles wiggled his way closer to the door, pressing his ear against the wood.

“We’ve no time,” Kate muttered, groaning. “He … poison,” she explained from below, growling at something. “Damn little brat. He used to be so gentle.”

Derek, Stiles realized. She was talking about Derek. He had hit her with poison? Derek had been poisoned? He frowned, trying to make sense of what he was hearing.

“There’s an antidote upstairs,” someone shouted, footsteps on the stair. Shit. Stiles scooted back as much as his body would allow, but there didn’t seem to be any hope for him. He sat listening to footsteps until they fell at the door. The door opened and Stiles stared blankly at the man as the hunter stared back at him.

“Well,” the man began, “You didn’t come here yourself.” He looked puzzled as Stiles gave him a small smile, the same he’d give a child for figuring out jumping in water makes one wet.

The man took another step inside the room and lifted his crossbow at Stiles’s heart. “You a wolf?”

Stiles shook his head. “No way,” he answered, eyes glued on the crossbow. “I still got scars on my back. If I was a wolf, they would have healed by now.” He turned over, exposing his back. He might have hated it, but it was better than dying.

He hated Peter for leaving him, abandoning him in this position. The man set his crossbow down and leaned over and moving the shirt upwards. Stiles flinched, but the man kept his distance, whistling as he noted the damage. “No kidding.”

Stiles was glad the man didn’t seem too quick. If anything the curiosity was keeping the man pacified, which meant less crossbow. When his shirt dropped, Stiles flipped over. The poor man had been on guard for anything but perhaps a human slave tied up and dropped into their hideout.

“Hey Kate?” The man called over his shoulder. “You gotta see this. We’ve got a visitor-“

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. As soon as the man had called for the Argent Princess, he knew exactly what his fate would be.

“Two, actually,” Peter snarled, coming out of the shadows like some gods damned trap spider. The wolf disappeared just as quickly, leaving a dead hunter in his wake. Stiles peeked open his eyes, only to find glassy ones staring up at him.

Okay. Bad idea. He squeezed them shut again.

Footsteps continued up the attic, smoke pouring into the room now with the door open. Stiles didn’t even bother to open his eyes, knowing damn well Kate was standing before him, a crossbow in hand. Another man came in beside her. This guy grabbed Stiles’s shirt and slapped his face for attention. Rather than speaking, or anything communicative.

Stiles opened his mouth to say something, but Kate cut him off, nudging his aggressor with her crossbow. “It wasn’t him,” she commented, looking over the dead body. “If he was a wolf he couldn’t get out of those ropes. Wasn’t too good with them as a human, either.”

Stiles glared at her. Her face was covered in blood, her side bleeding. She looked like hell. _Good_ , Stiles thought.

She looked him over, keenly aware there might be someone else in the room. “So, now you’re bait? Send you off to the Hales, and they use you as bait to trap me?” Kate asked, leveling her crossbow at Stiles’s chest.

“More like tried to execute me,” Stiles began. If she and Peter started fighting here, Stiles needed to be far away. He could practically feel Peter waiting behind boxes, waiting for the correct moment to strike. “Thanks to you, by the way.”

Kate only shrugged. “Should have found yourself a man who wasn’t still stuck on his old flame,” she replied, seeming bored with the conversation. “You did pretty good for yourself, whoring yourself out to the Hale Prince in exchange for favors.”

His blood boiled. “Only one of us used him,” Stiles argued, swallowing. “Really, only one of us has the track record of being a psychopathic bitch.”

Kate looked furious, ready to slap him. Instead, she winced, hand clutching her side. The lackey looked back and forth, trying to figure out what he should do. “Find me the antidote,” Kate commanded, her voice thinner than usual.

“Looking a little pale, Kate,” Stiles taunted. If he was going to die, he might as well taunt her as much as he could. “I know that look. My mother died of poison. There’s no going back once you’re that white.” She met his glare, her cool demeanor dropping for a moment.

“Too bad you couldn’t see your father when he turned this color.”

The words spun in Stiles’s mind; he struggled in the ropes, clawed at them with his futile human hands, tried to tear them apart. Words no longer played any importance; he needed to hurt her, to kill her now, to avenge his father and town.

Instead of succeeding he only found himself with the tip of an arrow pressing against his chest. “Don’t bother, boy,” Kate said smugly, and she got him. She’d won in their game of pissing the other person off.

Where was Peter? Where the hell was he? Why hadn’t he killed Kate yet?

The lackey tossed Kate the potion and she drank it quickly, wincing at the taste. “Your lover boy certainly has good aim. Better than his sister,” she emphasized. When Stiles gave her no reaction she tilted her head, confused.

Peter had to be waiting. He had to be angry.

“We’ve added wolfsbane to the fire,” she continued. “Just like the last place we burnt on this territory- keeps your pet wolves weak. Keeps the trap from springing.” She nearly shouted the last part as she looked up above, and Stiles’s heart fell. Peter had just inadvertently given Stiles over to his archenemy. Peter wasn’t going to be in any shape to fight.

“He abandoned me,” Stiles lied. “Knew you’d be up here. Didn’t want to-“

“Derek wouldn’t abandon you, sweetheart,” Kate informed him, pressing her arrow deeper to prove her point. On the other hand, Kate thought she was looking for Derek.

That’s why she made the jab at Derek’s sister. She wouldn’t have known Peter had abandoned the family. She was going after Derek, soft Derek, kind Derek.

But what she would find was Peter, ruthless and cunning. Peter, who had a million plans. Who could probably out-wait her in any situation.

He kept his mouth shut, though he _knew_ he looked a little smug.

“I’ve had my insiders tell me the tales. Little wolf-whore, spreading his legs for anyone to get privilege.” Kate clucked her tongue, trying to goad him into making a mistake again. “Letting himself be fucked by _monsters_.”

Or, she was trying to goad _Derek_ into jumping for his defense. But no one would come.

“He’s not here,” Stiles remarked, voice too honest. It hurt. He wasn’t going to be able to avenge his father, and that forced his gut even tighter. He was going to die here, useless and trapped, still tied up with rope. Unless Peter somehow gathered his senses and attacked her soon.

“Take him downstairs,” Kate told the man. “Let’s keep him locked up, set a trap of our own.”

The man picked stiles up, leaving Kate to explore the room by herself. Lackey wasn’t nearly as strong as Peter so Stiles was forced to try and walk on his own two feet. As they made their way down the spiraling staircase Stiles’s head spun due to all the smoke he’d inhaled. A couple of times he’d almost fallen off the staircase, but the man would catch him just in time.

“You’re going to die here,” Stiles informed the man, voice raspy. His chest still hurt.

“I know,” the man told him. “But we’ll take them down with us. Keep going.”

The man led Stiles down the steps, until there was an empty chamber beneath them. Someone had rigged up a rope on one of the beams, fastened into a noose. Stiles swallowed, trying to decide if he had enough space to attempt running for it. At least in the fire there was a _chance_ he could live.

He tensed, ready to spring.

Before he could take off the man slammed his weapon into the human’s back, causing Stiles to double over. He grabbed Stiles’s shirt and held him up, using Stiles’s rope as a leash, connecting Stiles to the noose with one end of Stiles’s rope and keeping him tied up.

Not that Stiles was really processing that. He could barely take in his surroundings. Through the pain. He managed to identify one table adorned with weapons and whiskey, surrounded by a couple of chairs around it. He managed to find the door, looking at the glowing runes above it. Mostly, he was playing games to not think about the pain he was in.

Footsteps echoed throughout the chamber and Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, unable to move away from the woman who now stood before him.

“I think I’d like his hands more up here,” Kate began, getting into the position for an example. The man sighed, loosening the ropes even more, trying to adjust them.

It was enough of a chance. With a burst of strength he broke free, kicking Kate in her weakened chest, right on her slashes. She dropped to the side. It felt like a huge victory. He might make it out of here. He might survive.

Stiles darted to the table, clambering out of the ropes. Neither hunter had time to grab their crossbow as Stiles grasped the hilt of a knife. It slid against his skin, too rough and leathery. Not a perfect fit, but he was _armed_ , which made his chances so much better than they had been moments ago. He turned around, ready to face his attackers.

“It’s like watching a kitten bear his teeth,” Kate declared as she got up, slowly circling to where her bow lay. The man moved with her, ready to throw himself between Kate and Stiles should the need arise.

Stiles swallowed, his arms shaking. He could do this, though. He didn’t need to _kill_ , just to _escape_ …

Peter let out a roar as his claws tore into the lackey, throwing him into the wall. The hunter’s body made a sharp crack against the stone. Quickly Stiles turned back to Kate, worried she’d moved in the confusion, but Kate was still focused on Peter, her eyes darting to the table.

Stiles didn’t run. He should have run. Some part of him screamed to run, knowing that sharing a kill meant he was accepting Peter’s offer into his pack, but most of him pictured his dad, sick and coughing in his bed. Kate had killed his father.

He gripped the hilt tighter, eyes rapidly assessing her form, trying to determine any weak spots. He didn’t expect he could kill her, but he could see her die. With Peter here, finally revealing himself and with Kate injured, she was going to die.

Gods help him, Stiles wanted to watch this woman suffer. He wanted to put her through everything she had put him through.

Kate bolted. She dodged for the table, ducking as Peter threw a chair in her general direction. Stiles lunged to the left while Peter jumped high into the air, landing behind her. When she reached for her crossbow Peter’s claws grabbed her arm, twisting it until Stiles could hear the bone shatter into a thousand tiny pieces.

Stiles lunged. Kate kicked him back, and Stiles fell onto the floor. Still, he’d kept ahold of the knife. Kate screamed as Peter broke her leg, his eyes red, his face twisted in something like an animal. He couldn’t voice words, but he howled, long and lonely, and Stiles knew what Peter meant to say.

_Kill her. Join me. Be my pack._

Stiles swallowed, weighing the ramifications. Peter held Argent’s good arm, keeping her upright. Kate was saying something, nothing that mattered because Stiles held a knife and could kill Kate and if he did he joined Peter’s pack, but his father- his father would be avenged. He could get revenge for the woman who had put him through hell. Who had burned down his town, who had scattered _Stiles’s_ pack. Who had _killed_ his father the moment Stiles left to keep his promise to her.

He charged, hoping she’d feel his blow in death.

She dodged. Well, as much as she could.

Despite her body in Peter’s grip, she managed to twist her torso so Stiles hit her right side, knife slicing her up but not outright killing her. Of course, Stiles thought, she was an Argent, not so easily downed. He hadn’t killed her at all.

Something warm trickled on his face, and he looked over at Kate’s shocked expression again. Her skin was whiter than snow with her mouth red as blood.

Blood that matched the color of the blood on her chest.

And Peter’s hand was sticking out of it, a heart twitching in his hand. Peter squeezed down, the organ squishing into a pulp.

Stiles puked. All over Kate’s body, all over the floor, tearing himself away from the scene. “Not worth it,” he told himself, feeling not a sense of accomplishment or justice but instead a twisting urge to heave all of his insides onto the ground. Oh gods, what had he just seen? What had he just _done_?

After a few heaves, Stiles’s stomach quelled, unable to expel anything more than what it had. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, turning to Peter.

Peter was eating the heart. “Want a bite?” he asked, offering Kate’s internal organ like she was not a large bracelet still on his arm.

Stiles turned and retched again.

Peter only laughed behind him, mocking his weak human qualities. “Want _the_ bite, Stiles? My bite?” Stiles turned, noting Peter’s eyes were flickering, his face constantly changing. The wolfsbane, he realized. It was probably affecting Peter. And they could either run out into the flames, or breathe in the wolfsbane here.

Stiles backed up against the wall, hoping Peter would forget about this moment.

“Stiles,” Peter chided, sighing like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We shared a kill.”

“Pretty sure you killed her,” Stiles rambled as Peter inched towards him, snapping his wrist to throw the body of the Argent Princess off of him, “Totally all you, dude, all by yourself, hurray, 100% you getting revenge for your family, what an awesome Alpha, whoopee, don’t need any Betas to get things done-“

Peter’s mouth was very wide, Stiles noted, very wide and full of fangs and oh gods, gods, he was going to _hurt-_

“Stiles!” Someone roared, and Stiles dropped to the ground in a duck, hands over his head as a wolf snarled. Peter turned around, cocking his head to the side.

“Ugh,” one of the guards commented- Isaac, that was Isaac, Isaac was a friend- “It reeks of wolfsbane.”

“He’s gone rogue,” the first wolf replied. Derek replied. Stiles looked up through the side of Peter’s leg, happily at Derek’s form. “We’ll have to take him down. He’s killed another pack alpha, he can’t-“

Peter roared in challenge. _Don’t tell me what I can’t do_.

Stiles wasn’t sure if he should be freaking out that he could practically hear what Peter was roaring.

All the Betas cowered, their reactions instinctual. But Derek didn’t cower, throwing himself at the Alpha instead. Stiles jumped to the side, crawling over next to Isaac. The wolf was still whimpering, though not his fault. The powers of Alphas could make Betas do crazy things, even if the Alpha wasn’t theirs.

“Hey, hey, Isaac, come on,” Stiles encouraged, and Isaac began to focus. “Outside. Still fire?”

“No,” another Beta spoke lowly, still trembling as Derek and Peter clawed at each other in the background. Derek let out a cry of pain as some of his bones simultaneously let out a sickening crack. In horror, Stiles turned towards the source of the sound only to watch Derek go flying against the wall like the other two bodies had.

Peter roared again. The betas all scrambled to press themselves as flat against the stone as possible.

“I’m not… going to let… you take him,” Derek sputtered out, still trying to draw a breath. Peter merely laughed, extending his claws.

“We shared a _kill_ , Derek,” he explained, knowing he was the victor. He sauntered over to his nephew. “Ah. Already putting out the fires, I see? I can smell the fresh air.”

Fire. Stiles’s eyes widened at the array of weapons, the whiskey bottle glittering in the dim light. Slowly he moved his way to the table, hoping Peter would be too focused in Derek to notice him.

Because if he noticed Stiles, they were both dead.

“Nobody will miss you, Derek. You and Kate killed each other here, while Stiles and my body will never be found.” Peter kicked Derek’s ribs with his boot, a satisfied noise in his throat. “Both terrible tragedies.”

The bottle lay in Stiles’s damp hands, and Stiles threw with all his might. It hit Peter square in the back of the head, shattering. Whiskey poured down Peter’s form as glass shards fell to the ground.

Peter didn’t even look back at him. “What a little fighter, isn’t he?” Peter cooed, his foot moving from kicking Derek to grinding down on his neck. “Clever. Loyal. He’s wasted on you.”

Stiles scrambled for an arrow, one of the ones he could light up. Isaac was over at his side in a second, hands still trembling, but holding the bow so Stiles could load it, holding the weapon so Stiles could set the arrow on fire.

“Even now he tries to save you,” Peter continued. Derek gasped underneath him, body convulsing for breath. Stiles looked away, focusing on what he had to do.

Stiles grabbed the bow and fired, the flames igniting the whiskey immediately.

Peter howled. He took a step back, more concerned with his body being on fire than with crushing Derek’s throat. Stiles couldn’t blame his priorities.

He rushed to find another arrow, anything ammo really, as Peter turned to glare at him, mouth more of a muzzle, form dark and bursting from his clothes.

Isaac was already out of the way.

Peter took a step towards him, eyes red and teeth bared, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Stiles swallowed, the scent of burning flesh reaching his nose. He fumbled with another bottle of whiskey, this one slipping from his hands and onto the ground below.

Suddenly Peter jerked back. Arms and claws wrapped themselves around Peter’s throat, digging in as best they could. Stiles could see Derek’s form behind his uncle, flames licking at both of their skins. Peter attempted a howl, but Derek’s grip was too tight.

This time when blood spattered on the floor, Stiles felt relief, allowing himself to sink onto his knees.

Derek dropped to the ground, rolling around to extinguish the bits of fire still remaining. Stiles inhaled, his head weak and spinning, and when Derek moved next to him, eyes red and not blue, Stiles took his arm gently. Derek was an Alpha now.

“Come on,” Derek said gently. “It’s over.”

Stiles nodded numbly, his mind still trying to make sense of the damage. Kate, her underling, and Peter all lay on the ground, the bodies empty and lifeless. The betas were finally gaining their senses, moving out and trying to find help.

Derek helped him to his feet, guiding him out the door despite his own limp. The wolf would probably still take some time to heal.

But it was over, as Derek said. Stiles shut his eyes, his body allowing himself to shake from the excess adrenaline. It was over. 

 

***

 

The meeting area for all the soldiers and guards was just outside the palace gates. So there Stiles and Derek hunkered down, waiting for an all clear in order to go back inside.  Though Peter was dead, the berserkers would take a while to settle down. The bells still rung behind him. All the guards and soldiers had retreated to this wall, spaced out unevenly.

Laura was speaking to a few wolves and some other man a good distance ahead, far enough away from the wall that wolves wouldn’t be able to make it out. Stiles squinted, sitting upright as he recognized Chris Argent. How had he even-?

“We signed a treaty,” Derek explained, having followed Stiles’s eyes. The wolf had never left his side, bandaging his wounds and taking his pain. Stiles wasn’t even aware that he hurt. Maybe psychologically. But he could survive. He would survive.

“Shouldn’t you be talking to them?” Stiles asked. “You’re a new Alpha now, right? Gotta go be gruff and official and everything?”

Derek shrugged, keeping his hands on Stiles’s shoulder. “Don’t… want to leave you,” he uttered.

Stiles didn’t push. He’d read accounts about how much power the Alpha spark was, how a lot of first-time Alphas went mad with a rush. If Derek dealt with his sudden power trip by taking Stiles’s pain, Stiles could deal with that. Besides, he was too tired to move.

“Thank you,” he murmured softly, moving himself to fall against Derek’s lap. “You were right. I totally needed the sleep.”

Derek brushed the hair out of Stiles’s eyes, his face sad and forlorn and _stupid_. He was doing that guilt thing again. “I couldn't get there sooner,” he stated. “I met Kate as we emerged from the tunnel.”

Stiles couldn’t help letting out a chuckle, remembering how indignant Kate was over her cuts. “You did a good job. A real work of art. A masterpiece,” he added, his hands going wide in the gesture. Derek chuckled behind him, both loopy with wolfsbane, smoke, and exhaustion- anything.

His eyes flickered up towards Laura and Chris, along with one of the Seconds from another pack. They headed in Stiles’s direction, all three with eyes grim.

Stiles didn’t want to deal with this. He tried to push away that loopy feeling. “Your sister’s dead,” Stiles proclaimed loudly. “Peter killed her.” He hoped Chris might leave after hearing the information.

No such luck. “I know,” Chris replied. “I came out here to warn Alpha Hale about her movements, but I was too late.”

“The gesture is appreciated,” Laura commented, though it was cold. It couldn’t have been more obvious that she didn’t trust Chris. Laura turned to the two wrapped up in each other against the wall. “Who killed Peter?” she asked, looking between Stiles and Derek.

Derek stiffened underneath him and Laura’s face turned grim in understanding. Deucalion’s second breathed in relief. “Well. We’re still a pack, Alpha or no, but I’m glad the spark is no longer inside your uncle. No offense, Alpha Hale.”

“None taken,” Laura murmured. “Go. Be with your pack. And Chris, if you could excuse us, I’m sure Boyd would be happy to accompany you.” Both nodded and left at the same time, Boyd bounding up behind them and leading Chris somewhere safe.

Derek relaxed only a little. “Laura,” he whined from behind Stiles. Laura’s eyes flashed red and Derek calmed, his hand dropping from Stiles’s shoulder and wrapping around his waist instead, keeping his arm low across Stiles’s lower back.

Sensing his tension, Stiles scooted closer to the wolf. Derek made a pleased noise. Probably Stiles should have been terrified- he knew from his studies (and first hand, thank you Peter) how much becoming an Alpha messed with instincts, but right now he was too tired, too exhausted to care. Kate could spring to life in front of him and Stiles was pretty sure he’d just fall asleep.

“Derek,” Laura began slowly, squatting in front of them both, “If you’re losing control, we need to separate you until you can figure yourself out.”

“I’ll be fine,” Derek huffed, but he pulled Stiles a little closer to him. “I’ve got a new anchor. It’ll see me through.”

Ok, this was a little worrisome. “Hey, at least he’s not tying me up and offering me a heart like Peter,” Stiles joked, and Laura paled. It didn’t seem nearly so much of a joke after he spoke out the words. “Or… you know what, it’s fine. It’s fine and I’m just going to be silent here, so.”

“Are you injured at all?” she asked him and Stiles shook his head.

“Nah. Just a perfect little pillow here for Derek to hold onto,” Stiles joked, spurting the first thing that came to mind. Derek let go instantly, like he’d been burned, and Stiles realized how it must have sounded.

“It was nice,” Stiles assured him, taking Derek’s hand and putting it back. “Nobody will take me while he’s here. And I know it might sound weird,” Stiles admitted more for Derek than for Laura, “But I really don’t want to be alone for a while.”

Laura’s gaze searched over him before she relented, nodding her consent. “All right. Until we can get your Alpha safely out to you or you to your Alpha, Derek will watch over you.” She looked at Derek. “And you and I will need to talk about this. Later,” she assured her brother, pulling him into an awkward one-sided hug. “Your pack is safe, by the way. We kept them in Deaton’s office with the injured- nobody will be able to get in for a while. Not even the berserkers.”

Relief washed over him. “Thank you, Alpha Hale,” he murmured. “Both Alphas.” Laura waved her hand in dismissal as she moved to go find other people to talk to, probably reviewing what had happened with the town.

Derek pressed his nose into the hair on Stiles’s head, giving him a gentle kiss. Stiles remained sitting, watching but not processing, breathing until he could finally allow himself to relax.

It was good to have someone there.

“I’m free now,” he whispered to the air, and Derek murmured a soft agreement, too soft for Stiles’s ears to pick up. But the sentiment remained.

Stiles fell asleep on Derek’s shoulder, feeling completely safe since he’d allowed himself to be captured months ago.

 

***

 

The human had a sensation of being carried, but he was far too tired to care. Derek was warm, and comfortable, and he could hear the barely-restrained growl of approval Derek gave as Stiles snuggled up to him. “Tired,” Stiles murmured.

“Safe to go back in,” Derek informed him gently. “Gotta take you to your Alpha.”

Scott.

Stiles was too tired to even respond, despite how important he knew it would be. So instead he waited, saving his energy for the “I’m okay,” as Scott demanded to know what happened. Stiles fell back asleep.

When he came to, Scott was standing beside him. “Hey,” Scott muttered. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a horse ran me over with a rake of flame attached to its butt,” Stiles replied, sitting up on a familiar infirmary bed. “Kate’s dead.” He groaned, his back tight and sore.

“So I heard,” Scott said. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Stiles looked over at the wolf, smiling as he took his hand. “Me too,” he agreed softly. “Can’t wait to get the hell out of here.”

Scott glanced over at Greenberg, sitting faithfully enough away he couldn’t hear. “Laura’s talking about making changes to her rule. We’re still free now,” Scott informed him, and Stiles felt relief wash over him. “But she said she wants advice. A conference about what to do next.”

That seemed unusual. “She trusts us?” Stiles responded.

“No,” Scott informed him. “I… I don’t think so. It just feels… It feels like she’s trying new ideas. Trying to figure out what _she_ wants this country to be.”

Stiles thought it over. “What about you? What do you want Beacon Hills to be?”

Scott swallowed. “Home. A place… where everyone is protected. A place where everybody can call home.” He looked at Stiles, who nodded approvingly.

“That’s very Deaton-esque of you,” Stiles commented. “Better keep away from him later.”

Scott continued. “I think change will be good. For all of us. For Laura, for us.”

Stiles swallowed, thinking about himself, about what he’d been forced to swallow, how he’d been forced to curb his personality. He thought about Derek, always trying to make things right even when they couldn’t be.

“I think so too,” Stiles confessed.

 

***

 

A couple days later Laura gathered up all the slaves again, ready to give them all a speech about the end of the war. The McCall pack stood on the stage, looking down at the people gathered before them. Stiles recognized some of them, blanching as he remembered his existence as a slave.

Scott held his hand comfortingly, squeezing it gently. Stiles could do this. He could.

They were free, he reminded himself. The war was over, the McCall pack was free, and nobody could whip him again without Scott tearing out their throats. He swallowed.

“There has been a grave mistake,” Laura began, and even though Stiles had been briefed on what she was going to say, fear built inside him, as if she’d take back her words. “For generations, this pack has kept tradition.” _Slaves_. “But when my mother took power, she began to rectify past mistakes, past wrongs.”

“And when I took over as Alpha, I failed all of you. Rather than usher in a new age of understanding, I allowed the cruelty and the exploitation to continue. I did not set the path to lead my pack to brighter and better futures; instead I nearly brought this all to ruin.”

All the slaves’ heads had popped up. This sounded like an apology. From their Alpha.

Alphas never asked forgiveness. 

“In my grief, I tried to keep my pack strong- and I nearly broke it,” Laura continued. “If it had not been for you and the McCall pack, it would have broken. I have failed you as an Alpha, and failed you as a leader.”

The room was silent.

“I apologize,” Laura stated simply.

The room remained quiet, as if one word could break the spell. “I refuse to wallow in terrible tradition any longer,” Laura continued. “You know that the wolves who fought as soldiers were to be free. I am also adding that for every slave, you will be paid for your years of service- you may collect your wages from your supervisor. From this point on, you will be treated as servants, free to go when you choose, with pay, and with freedom.”

“Slavery will henceforth never exist in this land again,” Laura finished. “I promise, as an Alpha.”

Silence. The Alpha had been met with sheer disbelief. There were no stunned cries, no clapping, no reaction at all.

It felt like hours had passed before something happened. A small man ran for the door and nobody stopped him. Instead they just watched as he turned, hand still hand on the door. Laura motioned to someone with a jerk of her head, and a man stepped forth. The room went silent until the man spoke.

“Your wages, sir.” The man held out a purse.

The man grabbed the coins and opened the door, running out of the palace. When the door swung closed, the silence shattered with small whispers, growing louder and louder.

 

***

 

There was a party again that night. Bards sang about greatness while Laura sipped her wine, talking to anyone on the floor. The throne stage had been remodeled into a buffet, and anyone serving was apparently being paid three times the normal amount for the day.

The palace was more upbeat than Stiles had ever seen it. Dancing, music, food- Scott and Jackson were on the floor, dancing with equally pretty partners. Stiles kept to his wine, looking over the entire area for Derek.

Derek didn’t show.

It wasn’t because he hated the slaves being free. If anything, Derek and Cora were against Laura keeping slaves in the first place. Maybe he didn’t want to see Stiles.

Stiles had no idea what it could be and sighed as he allowed someone to take his cup.

He felt unsettled. Like there was unfinished business. They’d bared their souls to each other, and nothing was resolved and probably wouldn’t be, but…

He wanted one more night in Derek’s arms. It was an addiction.

It was unhealthy, he reminded himself. He hadn’t yet worked through his previous issues, although with Derek saving him twice he felt a lot better about worrying if Derek would try to kill him again. He still didn’t know what he wanted- he was free and he wanted to go where he could, explore what he could. He wanted to rebuild his city.

He could never live inside the palace with Derek.

Stiles pursed his lips, the music almost too loud for his head. He still wasn’t sure if he could forgive Derek. Maybe he never would. Maybe he’d never look past that.

But right now, there was an itch deep inside him, one that drove him to look for the other man. Neither of them really got to finish, or enjoy the night. Desire flooded him, pumped through all of his nerves. He _wanted_.

He wanted one last night with Derek. Fuck. Stiles needed another drink.

Instead of heading to the bar, Stiles found Scott with his partner, interrupting their dances. “I’m going to go,” Stiles told him, and Scott hugged him. Jackson came up and also said goodbye, though it suspiciously sounded like, “Good. Wouldn’t want to haul your tired ass around tomorrow, Stilinski.”

Stiles chose to ignore it, and hoped Danny might give him pointers on how to run Jackson over with a horse tomorrow morning.

It was easy enough to slip out of the hall, guards dancing alike with slaves, the atmosphere one of joy and excitement. Certainly he didn’t expect all of the issues to disappear over night (he suspected at least for a while the slaves would continue to act like they were owned, and the guards like they were above slaves), but this celebration was more about things to come. It was both for the end of the war and for the end of an era of oppression, and both things were held equally.

He kept walking towards the rooms, passing by the library. “Equal,” he thought, remembering Deaton’s words. Certainly now they were equal, with Stiles being free. Even if it didn’t feel like being equal.

A cough sounded behind him. Stiles jumped. “Creeper,” he barked, hoping to shame the other man. “Have you ever thought of using words maybe?”

Derek shrugged, coming out of the shadows. He had his smug face on. Stiles rolled his eyes and let it go. “Didn’t want to go to the party?”

“I could say the same about you,” Derek said, shrugging. “Didn’t really feel like going- too many people. It’s too much of a risk.”

Right. With the alpha eyes and all. “I’m not too much of a risk?” he asked, stepping up closer. Gods, he hoped Derek couldn’t smell the arousal coming from him. It’d been too long. Last time they’d touched they hadn’t even…

“I can hear the bards, anyway. They’ve already fucked the stories up.” Derek waited, allowing Stiles to move nearer to him, allowing Stiles to throw his arms around Derek’s neck before his large hands settled on Stiles’s hips. Even now, making sure Stiles made the first move.

“That’s how legends get made, you know,” Stiles commented. “I think they’re singing right now about how you fucked women left and right but tore Kate’s heart out after she tore out yours.” Stiles let out a soft grin, his body thrumming with pleasant energy.

Derek shook his head, but his face was just as giddy as Stiles felt. “Peter tore out her heart, though.”

A wave of nausea hit Stiles as he remembered the scene. “Yeah. He did. But they say I stole it from Kate,” he continued, “with my eyes that burned like fire, stealing it so the McCall pack could come in and win the war.”

Derek shook his head. “Well placed negotiations with Chris Argent won the war,” he complained.

Stiles scolded him. “Hey, hey. I won the war. Me. Don’t be shooting me down now.”

Derek nearly purred. “Oh, I intend to give you your reward.” He pulled Stiles closer to him, rubbing their crotches together. Stiles held back a groan, keyed up from the wine and from Derek’s presence.

“Oh really?” Stiles asked, and met Derek’s mouth with his own, their tongues clashing in a battle for dominance. His bottom teeth scraped Derek’s lower lip as he tried to pin the wolf’s slippery tongue. Finally Derek relented, pulling away.

“I’m all cleaned out,” Derek told him.

Stiles couldn’t even think.

 

***

 

Despite how he thought this would go, Stiles lay underneath Derek, his legs spread wide as the wolf placed kisses down one. The human wiggled his hips, trying to entice Derek to move further down, to just suck him off already. Derek didn't want to, instead nibbling at the soft thigh exposed before him.

“Just fucking mark me, Derek,” Stiles demanded, and Derek’s eyes glowed as he obeyed. He drew it out, sucking and biting down, forcing a cry to escape past Stiles’s lips. The sensations dove straight to his cock, which twitched against his belly, fat and dripping precome all over.

“Derek,” Stiles begged, his voice thin and reedy, laced with want, with _need,_ “Derek, please.”

Derek growled into his leg. Fuck if that didn’t do anything for him, Stiles thought, his cock twitching yet again. He reached up and curled a fist into Derek’s hair, letting the soft pants fill the room. “Please,” he begged. It had been too long. It felt too good, and this time they weren’t going to stop in the middle, find other, more serious things. This time they were going to fucking orgasm.

Derek dropped his head low, providing one slow, solitary lick up Stiles’s shaft, sending the human’s body arching and upwards, wanting more of himself on that tongue.

The wolf maddeningly moved to the other leg, making a mark of equal size. Stiles tried to shift his hips, but Derek held him tight.

“No, please, Derek, please,” Stiles chanted, lifting his hips as much as he could repeatedly. “I need you, Derek. Need to come.”

Growling his approval, Derek moved back to Stiles’s leaking cock, taking the head into his mouth. Stiles’s hips arched off the bed, his hands holding him up through their grip on Derek’s hair. He was nearly shouting words, mostly positive affirmations, but he couldn’t tell, not really.

All he knew was limited to the sensation of Derek sucking hard enough to pull out Stiles’s soul.

Derek pulled away just as quickly, looking up at Stiles’s frustrated face. “Good?”

“Get back there,” Stiles ordered as he tried to control his breathing. “I have a bag full of mountain ash and if you don’t get back there it’s going straight-“ his words trailed off into one long “yeess” as Derek moved back down, taking him entirely in his throat.

Stiles grunted against the wet, tight heat swallowing him down. Derek never relented, always taking him deep, and it wasn’t long before Stiles spilled into Derek’s throat, contentment flickering through him as Derek swallowed every last drop.

“That was good,” Stiles informed Derek.

Derek scoffed. “Glad I could meet your standards.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, not moving. He didn’t want to come down from his post-orgasm bliss just yet.

“What did you have in mind for the next activity?” he asked, and Derek blushed from head to toe.

“I was hoping…” Derek trailed off, not using his words, and turned around and over in the bed, presenting his naked ass to Stiles. Stiles understood right away, his hands trailing up Derek’s thighs and settling on the globes of his ass, squeezing.

“Hope away, because this is going to be awesome,” Stiles assured him. He squeezed again, mesmerized at how the muscles flexed and strained underneath his touch. “Hot damn, why have we not done this before?”

Derek let out a whine. Stiles could see his cock dripping underneath his body, balls heavy and swinging freely. He placed a thumb at the tip of the rim. “Can I taste?”

Derek whined again, but Stiles waited patiently, teasing the pink hole with the tip of his thumb and pressed against it. Derek rutted back against him, but Stiles followed the movement smoothly, never pressing in.

“Please,” Derek gasped, “Please, Stiles,” he begged.

Stiles’s head spun with the concept of Derek like this, begging for Stiles to taste him. Who was he to leave such a man wanting? So he sat up and dove in, pressing his lips against Derek’s hole in a kiss, relieved Derek had cleaned himself out beforehand.

The sound of ripping fabric reached his ears. Stiles let out a low, breathy laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll get to it,” he comforted the wolf. Derek only nodded, face twisted in an attempt to not show how much he was enjoying it. “Just admiring how much work you’ve done, making sure this will be great for me, not just you.” Stiles patted the wolf’s butt. “That’s so nice,” he murmured distractedly.

“Stiles,” Derek whined, shifting his hips a little.

“Calm down,” the human remarked and darted out his tongue. Derek had done a great job preparing and cleaning- Stiles couldn’t taste anything but skin. He peppered Derek’s rim with light kisses, ignoring how Derek was gyrating his ass in an attempt to get Stiles deeper.

In return, Stiles circled the rim, pressing hard, and Derek let out a whine. Finally, when Derek had calmed down, Stiles pressed inwards, his fingers helping to keep the hole wide, but Derek was hot and tight against his tongue inside, a strange experience. The hole fluttered around his tongue, pressing here and there, throbbing against his muscle. It was like a vice, and Stiles’s tongue was soft and malleable.

It didn’t take long for it to get tired from fighting against he muscles in Derek’s ass. Valiantly he tried to keep going, his movements desperate with as much power as he could, but he just didn’t have the stamina to get Derek to come from just his tongue. “Sorry, dude,” Stiles slurred, and Derek laughed.

“It’s okay,” Derek assured him. “Felt really good. I’m so close, Stiles.”

“Yeah?” Stiles asked, one of his hands cupping Derek’s balls while the other moved underneath in order to grab around Derek’s shaft.

The wolf jerked into his hands, groaning. His cock was heavy and thick, pulsing, and Derek was right- it didn’t take long for him to come at all.

And when he did, Derek rolled over, avoiding his semen on the bedspread, looking up at Stiles with nothing short of affection in his eyes. Stiles smiled in return.

Derek groaned, turning his head away. “Bath,” he insisted, and it sounded like a great idea.

 

***

 

Stiles might have enjoyed the bath a little too much, not focusing on the company he was with. Both men kept their distance from each other. Both sat, unsure of what to do. It wasn’t that Derek was hoping Stiles would stay, the human knew, but rather they just wanted to be close for a moment. Stiles would allow this moment of weakness just one more time; one more time of knowing everything was all right, everything would be fine, and safe, and he didn’t want to be alone.

Even so, the finality of the moment hung in the air. It was the last time they’d ever do something like this, and both of them knew it. Stiles traced little circles in the tip of the water, distracting himself from the atmosphere around him. Derek moved back and forth in the water, also uneasy.

Unable to take any more silence, Stiles opened his mouth and asked, “Are you going to get a new pack?”

Derek nearly jumped at the words; everything had been silent up until then. They hadn’t even discussed what might be happening in the future with either of their packs (something Stiles really wanted to know). Instead they just followed procedure, stripping off their clothes, sudsing up (Derek didn’t use his normal soap), rinsing off and sinking in the bath.

“Most Alphas get a new pack. Or they take over the old one,” Stiles explained, still looking at the top of the water.

Derek raised an eyebrow, as if to say, “I know”. Stiles didn’t even have to look at him to hear the tone of his unspoken words. So Stiles continued. “So… are you gonna go away from here? With wolfy friends? I think Erica and Boyd would follow you.” He paused, thinking Isaac over. “Maybe Isaac.”

“I’m not leaving Laura.” The tone was sad and struggling. “I don’t care what the laws say, what the rituals are. I don’t want my own pack.” Derek huffed. “Besides, the alpha spark… it’s… difficult. I need to get my head on straight, sort it all out. I never…” Derek took a breath. “I don’t ever want to lose control of myself again. If I’m with Laura, I won’t have to risk that.”

Stiles thought back to the way Peter had acted after becoming an alpha- rough, wild, too unfocused. It was animalistic. “You changed anchors because you didn’t want to lose control again,” Stiles spoke out loud, putting it together. “So the alpha spark is like an anchor?”

Derek squeezed his hand, finally turning back to gaze at the human. “It’s like a storm,” he explained, his eyes meeting Stiles’s own. “Worse than the moon. And with my new anchor being so fresh, so new, I…” He trailed off, but Stiles didn’t need to hear the words. _I don’t want to hurt you again._

“I think it’s a good idea,” Stiles concluded. “It’s the best course of action, really. And you won’t be like Peter, then, going wild and crazy.”

The bath filled with a low growl, and Stiles realized it was coming from Derek. He sat up, worried, and the growl turned to whining. “Sorry.” Derek returned to focusing on the water. “When I think of what he did to you… what he wanted to do to you, it gets harder to control my instincts.”

“Bad puppy,” Stiles joked, and Derek rolled his eyes, but the tension between them dissipated. Stiles continued, his words much more serious. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ll make a great alpha. You already know how to take care of those weaker than you, like when you rationed out food for the slaves this winter. You make sure you’ve got control before you go into any group of people. You’re a good leader, someone Laura will depend on.”

“I’ve failed,” Derek murmured. Stiles didn’t have to guess what Derek meant.

“Hey, so have I,” Stiles began. “I mean, I’ve been a little shit this entire time. I freed the Argents and kept the war going on a bit longer. I got myself captured on purpose so I could support Kate. Once I realized I loved you, I should have pushed you away because I knew that when I was discovered you’d be hurt, but I never did. And I know you would have let me push you away.” Stiles sighed. “I think neither of us are perfect angels here, to be honest. We both selfishly tore each other apart.”

He could see Derek struggle with that, Derek trying to figure out if he should bring up his guilt over almost killing the human. Ultimately Derek let Stiles lead, saying “Okay,” instead of speaking about it.

Stiles replied by leaning over and planting a kiss on Derek’s cheek. “And like an asshole,” Stiles continued, “I’m spending time with you instead of letting either of us heal.” His heart fell as he realized the weight of his selfishness- he was still tearing Derek apart, wasn’t he? Derek, who still loved him. Derek who-

Who had brought his mouth over Stiles’s own, swinging his leg over Stiles’s lap. Stiles opened up his mouth, eagerly drinking in the assurance Derek gave him. They both knew it wouldn’t last, that it would be their last time, that tomorrow they wouldn’t be together, and yet they still both wanted to cling to this illusion for as long as they could.

Derek pulled away, Stiles puffing out breaths. “It’s okay,” Derek told him lowly. “No matter what you choose, when you choose it, I’ll accept it.” The words rang true and Stiles felt his eyes well up with tears. But Derek came in and kissed him again, an underlying hunger to their kiss, and Stiles pushed those thoughts aside for later.

He would have a long time to figure stuff out. Maybe he knew his endgame already, knew what his final goal was, but he needed time to plan.

They were both too tired for multiple rounds, but when Stiles said he would stay a little longer Derek’s face lit up so painfully Stiles caved and agreed to stay the whole night.

They left the bath and Derek got into bed naked. Stiles crawled in next to the wolf awkwardly, trying to fit between the wolf and the wall. Derek helped him in the bed, adjusting the blankets and tucking Stiles in, finally just stepping out of the bed and letting Stiles get in first.

They cuddled, Stiles as the big spoon, finally able to sleep without Derek worrying or Stiles worrying or anyone setting fire to the castle. It was nice, Stiles thought, and as he drifted off a thought came to him.

It was what he’d like, sometime in the future.

Maybe not now. Maybe not until he’d sort through all the emotional stuff that got thrown on the back burner, what with an assassin, with Peter, and with Kate. But maybe in a year, maybe in two, if Derek was willing to wait.

Derek turned over, facing Stiles. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles shook his head, hands wrapping around Derek’s neck, forcing the wolf to his chest. “I know we’re the same now, not master and slave,” Stiles started, “but… it doesn’t feel that way to me. Not when I’m still trapped in this palace. And I still don’t know how I feel about,” he struggled through the words, “my back. I’ve been pushing things away, because you know, death. Kate. Peter.” He paused, watching the wolf take it in with calmness. Derek had probably resigned himself to this long before tonight.

Still, he had to continue. “If… If I asked you to wait for me,” Stiles began. “I know it’s selfish and I know I shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t tear you apart and make you wait even if nothing happens-“

“I’ll wait,” Derek said hurriedly. “If it’s punishment, I deserve it. If it’s time you need, I’ll give it.” He looked up, wolf strength pressing back against Stiles’s hands, bringing them eye-to-eye. “I love you, Stiles. I’ll wait.”

He would. He’d give Stiles space, and he would wait, and he would love Stiles, even if they both moved on, even if nothing ended up happening despite the pain it brought Stiles’s heart to think about.

They drifted off to sleep like that, facing each other, a last embrace for what would be a long time.

 

***

 

In the morning, Stiles stood at the door while Derek lay in bed. It hurt to tear himself away. He felt guilty over the last night, what he’d asked Derek to do. Even if Derek would wait and didn’t see a problem with it, Stiles still felt guilty. He’d leave Derek to wonder what would happen to him, always wondering if he’d changed his mind.

“Was it always this hard to leave?” Stiles asked, thinking of all the times their positions were reversed.

“Always,” Derek answered from the bed, his voice equally soft and broken.

Stiles opened the door, stepped through, and closed it behind him- he had to get ready. He had to find Scott and leave this place, and he had to be prepared for the journey.

It felt like when Peter smashed his head into the ground.

 

***

 

Cora would leave with them. The official reason was “prisoner of war” or something equally stupid. The unofficial, more realistic reason was that they needed another wolf, one to train them and get their wolves strong. Joining the army had been more of a last-ditch effort full of makeshift soldiers. They needed some sort of training.

Stiles was glad he wasn’t a wolf.

There were a couple of guards for them- Laura was lending them horses for the journey, but the guards would bring the horses back. They were really big, and looked mean up close. Stiles was pretty sure his looked like a “Roscoe” all big and buff and bumpy.

And it bit him. On the butt. Twice.

“Thank you, Alpha Hale,” Scott began, giving her a firm handshake. Derek stood behind her, fulfilling his new role as Second. Given his expression, he had yet to see the small note Stiles had left in the bedroom. Then again, he had left it under the lord’s pillow. Derek’s eyebrows raised in suspicion as Stiles allowed himself a small smile.

Yet he said nothing as Scott made a motion for the humans to mount the horses. The wolves would run, wild and free, and Stiles couldn’t wait to see them move. There was something incredibly humbling about watching the wolves. He remembered being up in the trees, watching as Scott stalked his prey, bringing back a rabbit or two for Melissa.

His foot got stuck in the stirrup. Uselessly he flailed around, waiting for someone to rescue him from his lack of dignity. Eventually, Scott took pity on him and helped him into the saddle, shaking his head. “Seriously, Stiles,” he chided.

“It’s high,” Stiles complained. “And I’m _injured_.”

Jackson muttered something under his breath, and Derek suddenly coughed behind Laura, face red. Stiles vowed to chase the wolf down later with his horse. Maybe he’d be lucky and his horse would bite _Jackson’s_ butt.

Scott thanked the Alpha again, and Stiles was glad he didn’t have to do an acknowledgement to Derek, between Seconds, because he was on a horse and thinking about how cool it would be to run Jackson over and not about how numb he felt, how empty it was, how there was a big imaginary stone on his chest, weighing him down. Nope. Totally thinking about Jackson getting run over by a horse.

Laura dismissed them, and Scott gave the howl to move out. They’d barely started their horses when a voice cried out behind them.

“Wait! Waaait!”

Stiles turned, around, his back protesting (fuck his back, when the hell was it going to get better) but the horse followed his movement, turning around. The wolves stopped, dropping to the ground before relaxing, and Greenberg to the right of Stiles made a noise, his horse turning as well.

Finstock ran after them. “Waaaaait,” Finstock called, running. “Greenberg, wait for me or you’ll be doing laps!”

Greenberg faceplanted off his horse as he tried to turn around. Stiles didn’t judge; he was sure he’d do the same once they rested for the night.

“Didn’t see that coming,” Danny murmured from behind him as Finstock continued running, the wolves at his side as he made it to the man on the ground. Stiles agreed.

The Second wasn’t sure how they embraced, really, but it looked really embarrassing. He had to turn away. Even Laura had her face in her hand.

“He’s yours,” she shouted, the most informal way pack members had ever been exchanged in the history of werewolves.

 

***

They arrived five days later with Cora leading the way home. She was grim the entire time, and when they arrived they knew why. Everything was black.

The houses were all burned. All of them, burned down. Only two things remained- the fucking old stump that apparently was a source of magic, and the sheriff’s house, built of stone.

But it was home.

Scott swallowed and steeled himself, taking the first steps into their old and new home. Stiles got off his horse much more gracefully than he’d gotten on it and followed Scott in, their faces determined. They’d make sure this place would be good enough for everyone to come back.

Everyone living, Stiles’s mind supplied, looking at his old house.

 

***

 

It was hard work trying to rebuild a town, Stiles wrote in his letter. Scott and Stiles first suggested building homes, but Finstock had put down that idea.

“Food,” he explained. “You’ve got to make sure those fields support you through the winter.”

Sometimes it was nice to have a helpful guide. Scott split the group into two teams- ones in charge of the field (mostly humans), and those in charge of rebuilding, hauling wood, burying bodies (mostly wolves. Even Cora volunteered).

But Stiles’s back was still injured, still not strong, and though he volunteered to help with planting, Scott placed his hand on his shoulder and told him to explore, to find new things.

So Stiles did. It wasn’t bad, this time by himself. He’d discovered berries and fruit trees, old fishing grounds with nets to trap the fish still remaining, old wood and abandoned farming houses that they could steal supplies out of.

He had lots of time to think, which was also good. And by the time he’d gotten a great idea of what they could preserve (half of the winter food would be things Stiles had scavenged, and that made him proud), he’d finally gotten the nerve to write his first letter to Derek.

 

***

 

Derek wrote him back a couple weeks later. Stiles nearly jumped as he read the letter in the summer heat.

Laura had allowed him to stay on as her second. With two alphas in a pack the other packs were reluctant to wage war, especially as they now had a bigger army than what they started with. Taking down the Argents had saved all of the packs, and the others retreated to their smaller territories.

Laura had suggested downsizing as well, and she’d let go of a couple other places besides Beacon Hills. The Martin family was “exceedingly pleased” by Laura’s choice to hand them the biggest plot of her land, provided they stay loyal. (Stiles could see the contentment on Jackson’s face when he showed him that part of the letter).

It worked best, Derek wrote- the halls of the palace were emptier now, but full of chatter and sass that he had never heard before. The old slaves could stay or go, go to the new lands, go to older lands, and Laura didn’t stop them. She had also emptied out a lot of coffers to pay each soldier who had fought- slave or not.

There would be no revolts from former slaves, Derek wrote. They were all happy with both her announcement and her willingness to let them leave. Though he supposed they still hadn’t forgiven the Hale family. (Stiles’s throat closed up at that, eyes wet).

Derek still had one of Stiles’s old shirts, if he wanted it.

 

***

 

Stiles told him to keep it. The storms were rolling in from the plain now in the summer, making it difficult to get any construction done. Scott debated whether or not to move them in the old passageways for the winter- it’d be warmer down there, but Finstock had pointed out they’d need to build fireplaces, and if that was to be done, it needed to be done soon.

Stiles had visited his father’s grave. He cried a lot. Gave his father back the badge.

Cora was still mouthy, and Stiles mouthed her right back. The crops were coming in well, almost more food than they could prepare, but they’d have to prepare it sooner than later. Getting enough food ready for winter seemed difficult, especially if it was as long as the last one.

Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night with his back on fire, nightmares in his head. And when he reached out for his father, only Scott would grab his arm.

He never told Derek about the nightmares.

 

***

 

In Derek’s next letter the wolf explained he was training as an Alpha. It was hard. Mostly because Laura beat him up all the time.

He felt restless. A line or two was dedicated to Cora (Cora rolled her eyes and continued training the wolves), but for the most part, Stiles couldn’t figure out what Derek meant to say at all. Mostly it was nonsense about scents and feelings and guilt that Derek never really dove into.

Stiles didn’t press for information.

Derek concluded though that mostly he was unsettled recently due to a reoccurring dream- a dream where Stiles would always be dead. It worried him, but then he would remember how much he loved Stiles, how happy they were in their earlier times in Derek’s bedroom, and he’d calm down a bit.

It took Stiles a while to realize Derek had just revealed his anchor.

 

***

 

Sometimes Stiles would write about what he’d like to show Derek- his fish nets on the river (Scott had looked so proud of him when he mentioned he’d like to try and catch fish), the nemeton which hadn’t burned down, or his old house where the pack now lived.

Except for Greenberg and Finstock at times, but they were always allowed to come back in once they were done.

The harvest season was coming up soon, Stiles wrote, and Finstock was worried about how much work it would be, but Stiles was feeling good. His nightmares had mostly stopped, and his head felt clear.

He hoped the harvest season would go well for the Hales, too.

 

***

 

Then the harvest season came, hot and humid, and Stiles had to put aside letter writing for fishing. His back was almost healed- tomorrow he’d help comb through the grain while the wolves would store the seeds to be used later. But for today, there were fish to be had.

Cora had been more than helpful- never part of the pack, but always watching, waiting, teaching the bitten wolves about how to tap into their instincts. It was a lot like when she was a general, she explained, but with less killing. It was good for all of them.

Stiles knelt by the river, checking the fishing nets. He really needed to write a letter- Derek was probably worried about him. He could always tell, the way the letters told more about his personal life when Stiles didn’t mention his own, a passive request for Stiles to open up.

It was good like this, the distance, Stiles thought.

He’d kept from the letters that he’d come to terms with what had happened- terms because it was impossible to say he’d gotten over it. There was no point discussing it with the other man- they were both Seconds now, loyal to their packs. Finally equals, and totally apart.

His eyes blurred as he grabbed the nets.

It wasn’t so much that he missed Derek. He’d never met Derek at Beacon Hills and never expected to see him here, but he did miss Derek’s company. He wanted to form new memories, maybe, to try and see different parts of the Alpha.

Stiles pulled the net upwards, noting a big hole- something had chewed through it. Dang. No fish tonight. His stomach rumbled in protest.

Bushes rustled across the river. Stiles glanced up, his hand automatically going for a knife- it probably wouldn’t be anything dangerous, but he had to be careful. The human relaxed as the head of a deer poked out through the brush. It was probably out foraging for food freely now that wolves in this territory were few and far between. He’d tell Cora about it later- deer were apparently great for hunting practice. And for eating, though that went without saying, really.

He turned back to the nets, the rustling intensifying. When the rustle became too much sound for just one deer, he glanced up from his work. Two deer. And a third, as the deer came closer, bodies awkwardly jerking to and fro. Stiles found himself rising as more deer bodies emerged- they weren’t deer so much as _a five-headed deer monster_.

Stiles went cold, dropping his knife. Maybe it was his will or maybe it was his instinct, but his feet moved into the river regardless, nets forgotten. His shoes stuck in the mud and Stiles left them behind, driven by the urge to see what lay behind the bushes. The deer moved out from behind the bush and Derek’s voice floated to him, right as Stiles had reached the other side of the bank.

“I bring a gift,” Derek conveyed, “From the Hale pack.” Stiles couldn’t even see him. How on earth could Derek move with all those deer bodies wrapped around his form?

His steps changed from a tentative inching to a full out run, his legs launching his body at the man. Derek dropped the deer and grabbed onto him, swinging Stiles around as the deer corpses hit the bank of the river. Dreaming. Stiles had to be dreaming.

His mouth felt too wide and his heart leaked out sunshine, but based on Derek’s utterly pleased face it didn’t matter that he felt happy enough to be the creepiest thing on the planet.

The human leaned down, bringing their lips together. He was so glad Derek was here, as if Derek knew what he was unconsciously hinting at in all of his letters. He missed his wolf. He wanted to see Derek again.

Derek _had_ understood. Stiles didn’t need to write a letter to explain it to him. Derek could read him in ways he hadn’t thought of before.

Occasional bursts of laughter escaped Stiles mouth, just a little too happy to keep it contained. Derek just chuckled with him, placing a kiss on Stiles’s jaw to placate his mouth for now.

“Officially, I’m here to help with harvest,” Derek announced. “And to check up on Cora.” He placed Stiles down on the ground, his hands never leaving the human’s hips. It was a subtle gesture, but Stiles noticed. Derek was avoiding his back, trying not to bring up the memory for either of them.

Stiles rubbed his hand against the stubble on Derek’s chin. He _believed_ Derek would never hurt him again, a solid unshakable faith that was probably due more to his gut than his logical mind, but his gut had yet to steer him wrong. The world felt somehow lighter with this faith and he didn’t want to dash it just yet.

“Laura probably told you to stop pining and get the fuck out of the palace,” Stiles chided, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck. He smelled terrible, full of blood and sweat and stink of not washing. But it was still Derek, and Stiles pulled himself closer.

A quick kiss. “Not in those words,” Derek argued as he pulled away. Stiles kissed him again. And maybe a couple more times.

Maybe he pinned Derek down on the riverbank as they kissed, but Derek wasn’t complaining, body pliant underneath Stiles’s movements. “The McCall pack thanks you for your help,” Stiles purred when he was done.

“Should do things for the McCall pack more often,” Derek murmured softly, and Stiles could hear the question behind the words, the hinted request. _I want to visit you more often. Without excuses_.

“You should,” Stiles agreed, sitting up. The deer should be cleaned soon if they wanted to eat them, and given that there would be no fish tonight, deer would be most welcome. He weighed this over sucking Derek off right now. The man was beneath him, with Stiles’s legs inside Derek’s thighs. Stiles watched the way the prince’s chest moved with each breath.

It was a hard choice to make indeed.

It was made as Derek smiled at his words, his hands cradling Stiles’s head. There would be plenty of time with Derek later, he knew. They were seconds. They’d see lots of each other. They might always have distance, but maybe that worked for now- just a long affair between pauses, lots of letters, lots of kisses and blowjobs when they _were_ together.

The river bubbled behind him. When Stiles looked back, it had carried his shoes away. “Whelp,” Stiles groaned, fruitlessly searching around, “Guess I get to walk back barefoot.”

“I could carry you.” Derek offered, standing up.

“No way, dude, I’m not being carried with those things. They smell like death.” Stiles made a face. “Go see Cora; I’ve got to finish up here.”

So Derek moved onwards with his deer, into their little town while Stiles hurried through his word, heart pounding in his ears.

 

***

 

Cora was not nearly as pleased to see her brother as Stiles was. Stiles supposed it might be the smell. “Both of you,” she commented, “Are sleeping outside. You can both help with grain combing tomorrow- that’ll give us another wolf for harvest.”

“Excellent,” Finstock began, somewhere from Greenberg’s general vicinity. “We might make our quota!”

There was a bonfire that night, with deer roasting on a spit. Occasionally Stiles would glance up and see flames flickering on Derek’s face, the same as after Kate died. Derek kept a great distance away from the fire, but Stiles could still follow him with his eyes. Derek talked some to Cora, and then to Finstock, surprisingly, and when Derek turned to look at him his face seemed a lot redder in the firelight.

Finstock left, and Stiles moved over to him, extra meat in hand. He offered it to Derek. Derek took it. “So Cora says we aren’t sleeping with the pack tonight,” Derek began, and Stiles blinked.

“Oh, so Finstock told you the place where he and Greenberg go to each night?” Stiles theorized, putting the pieces together. When Derek nodded, he patted the wolf’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. We can come back in once we’re done fucking. That’s what we told them. Otherwise they had too much sexual tension between them, it was stifling.” Stiles shook his head at the memory. “Even for me.”

Derek finished his meat, licking his fingers. Stiles paused with his mouth open, giving a little groan as his dick twitched in his pants, suddenly interested. Damnit. Tease.

“How long do you think we’ll be?” Derek asked innocently. “I’m really tired-“

“Long enough for me to wring my name out of your mouth,” Stiles started, grabbing the wolf’s ass and grinding their hips together. “Hope you brought the bag-thing.”

He pressed their lips together and as he explored Derek’s mouth in an attempt to provide Derek with some idea of what he had planned, with some sort of nonverbal cue of “I wanna fuck your ass tonight.”

Derek complied willingly.

 

***

 

They came back at dawn, both a mess and Cora sighed loudly while Finstock merely allowed them the sleep they needed, waking them up at mid-morning and pointing to where he’d set up the combs. Already grain was piled up high, waiting for them to get to work.

They worked soundlessly the first couple of hours, both busy and focused on their task, raking the grain through the combs, moving the shucked grain from a bin if it got too full. There was time to think as Stiles got used to combing through the grain, once his body got used to it.

It was nice, working alongside Derek like this, both of them doing the same job. It brought little twitters of contentment into his heart.

Stiles opened his mouth.

“How did you fall in love with me?” Derek jerked his head upward, shifting grain with a comb. “Was it because of my personality?”

Derek shook his head as he made a puffing sound. “No.”

Stiles pouted, feeling a little put out. Derek sighed as he continued.

“Our first meeting, you mentioned… your parents were dead.” He kept brushing out the grain, and Stiles didn’t bother to correct that their first meeting an old woman had beaten Stiles with a spoon because Stiles was too busy looking at Derek’s ass to be polite. “Mine were dead. For the first time, I wondered what it was like to be someone else, what kept you strong. I saw you duck your head when need be, silent and calm, trying to stay alive, and thought, _I should have been like that_. The way…” Derek swallowed. “The way you handled yourself, keeping to the shadows, doing enough to get by- I wanted to know the strong person before me.” The wolf reached over for a couple more pieces of grain.

Strong. Derek thought he was strong. Derek continued. “You mouthed off a lot to me, though. I figured that was more of the person you really were, but then again, most slaves who were loud didn’t stay long in the palace.”

Stiles hummed, steering the conversation out of the dark place it was in. “Hmm,” he thought out loud, “One did.”

Derek gave a huff, but didn’t continue, the subject still sore between them. Some things they’d probably never talk about. That was okay.

“When did you fall in love with me?” Derek asked him gently, softly. His eyes sparkled with curiosity.

Well, Stiles was never one to leave curiosity unsatisfied. He grabbed the wolf’s wrist and squeezed it gently, looking into his eyes.

“When I saw your bath,” he answered with as much honesty as he could muster.

Derek thwacked his grain on Stiles’s face. Stiles merely laughed.

Giving one last huff in mock frustration, Derek flashed a smile at Stiles and moved back to his work. Working alongside the other man was a peaceful thing indeed- both Seconds, both lovers, both each other’s equivalent.

It was a great thing.

One day Stiles figured he might tell Derek about how he fell in love, how after the physical attraction and the desperation of the Argents, Derek wormed his way into Stiles’s heart by his demand that they be equal, promising to take vows before his Alpha to ensure it was the case. One day Stiles might sit Derek down and say he understands why Derek did what he did, seeing Stiles not as a person but as an enemy, an extension of a woman who burned down his family, even if the scars still hurt from time to time and he’s not sure he can forgive Derek completely. One day Stiles might suggest to Derek about joining packs or moving closer to the borders together or thank Derek for giving him the space he needed without pushing.

But for this day, he could sit as the two of them worked on their jobs, smiling brightly as his heart swelled. Maybe this was the path to happiness in the future; certainly not forgetting past transgressions, but deciding to try and move past them with Derek, for as much as they could be together.

Stiles smiled to himself, ignoring Derek’s look of adorable confusion. Eventually the wolf shrugged it off, eye back on the grain as they kept combing it through.

Derek was a good man, Stiles thought as they continued working. Sometimes a little lost, sometimes a little rough around the edges, but a good man.

Stiles loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …I refrained from posting anything else on my account because if I did, you all would know what ending I was going for. 
> 
> It's over. Hurray! Everybody off the crytrain now.
> 
>  
> 
> Interesting piece of information: 
> 
> This fic started from a dream I had in January, which was nothing more than Stiles having just freed the Argents and Derek suggesting they go to bed for some extra luck (with the Master/Slave undertones), and Stiles hesitantly agreeing. That's it. That's all I had to start with.
> 
>  
> 
> Two things I've debated: 
> 
> 1) I took notes about my work and have debated posting the original ideas and how the story has transformed as I've been writing it. I'm still not sure; I feel like if I show you my notes it might lessen the impact of the whole story. We'll see. Maybe I'll post it as a separate work instead of a chapter. I've lost the outlines though.
> 
> 2) The other thing I've debated is whether or not to write a sequel. I can see it happening within this universe, but the themes that were so prevalent in this fic might not exist. While this fic was more about trust after betrayal (or perceived betrayal) and equality, a sequel would be more about building trust and working through a relationship when trust has been broken. (Truth: This fic was to see if I could do set-ups, and how effectively I could do them and link back to previous chapters). Combined with two more story ideas I'd like to get off the ground before I'd even start this fic (neither of them are as agnst-filled though), I'm not sure how soon there would be a sequel if there was one. 
> 
>    
> Author's note chapter: When I deleted the author's note I took out quite a few comments as well. I'm so sorry. I tried to reply to each of those comments before I deleted the note so that you will have my response in your e-mail, at least. I didn't realize the site would do that, so I'm very sorry for deleting your comments. 
> 
>  
> 
> Finally!
> 
> I'd like to say a big thank you to all those who have left comments, who have left kudos, who have bookmarked, who have reced this fic onsite and offsite, who have subscribed, who have merely read and added their ISP to the hit counter. You have made this both a positive and a learning experience for me, and for that I could not be more grateful. :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Caste System](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549025) by [Notsalony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notsalony/pseuds/Notsalony)




End file.
